


The White Stag

by Callie



Series: Narnia and the North [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Established Relationship, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:54:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 62,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22235173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callie/pseuds/Callie
Summary: A journey to the Lone Islands unearths a Calormene conspiracy that threatens Narnia and all the lands around her.
Relationships: Susan Pevensie/Jon Snow
Series: Narnia and the North [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1596649
Comments: 90
Kudos: 113





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second fic in a series. If you have not read the first one, [The Lion, The Wolf, and the Free Folk](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18952996), this will make absolutely no sense whatsoever. Go read that first!
> 
> This fic will be relatively short and will be set entirely in Narnia. The next one will be relatively short and set entirely in Westeros, so if you're missing Sansa, Tyrion, etc. we will catch up again with them soon!

"We ought to think about our visit to the Lone Islands," says Edmund. "We'll need to go soon, if we're to be back before winter comes."

"The Lone Islands?" Jon asks. He's still trying to learn everything there is to know about Narnia, and though he's traveled across it several times in the months he's been here, he hasn't yet ventured east of Cair Paravel.

"They're a Narnian holding, in the Eastern Ocean," Susan explains. "About… hmm.. seven hundred years ago, give or take a bit, King Gale of Narnia killed a dragon that was terrorizing the Lone Islands and in return, they named him their Emperor. The title has been attached to the Narnian crown ever since."

"We go there every other year," Edmund adds, "to collect the annual tribute and hear a report from the Governor, our representative there. In the off years, the Governor comes to us. This is a year we're to travel there."

Lucy brings out a map and spreads it out upon the library table. "There are three islands, see? Felimath, Avra, and Doorn. The governor's residence is on Doorn, at Narrowhaven, but we've an estate on Avra where we stay often. It's called Tullamore, it's quite lovely."

It's only after Susan, Edmund, and Lucy have shared several stories of their past visits to the Lone Islands (including an anecdote about Edmund being headbutted by a sheep and falling into a creek on their first visit to Felimath) that Jon realizes Peter has said very little and seems quite disinterested in their entire conversation. Peter has shown little interest in anything of late, Jon thinks, and he wonders if it has to do with the abrupt ending of his relationship with Sansa.

Eventually, Peter says, "Tell the Governor he ought to make the trip this year."

"But he visited us last year," Lucy reminds him. "It's our turn to go this year. Besides, they will have already begun preparations for our arrival."

"I don't care to make this trip this year," Peter says. "Tell the Governor he can make the trip this year, and we'll go next year instead."

There's an uneasy silence between the Pevensies then, a discord which none of them seem to know how to break. Jon certainly does not know how to break it; though the Pevensies have invited him to join their councils as one of them, he feels it isn't his place, and gives no opinion unless asked directly for it. 

"Perhaps Jon and I could go," Susan suggests. There's a note of appeasement in her voice, as if she wants to smooth things over between her siblings. "It would give him a chance to see more of our world. We've been across Narnia and back and through Ettinsmoor and the Wild Lands of the North, but he's seen nothing of the Eastern Ocean."

"But the Lone Islands are closer to Calormen than they are to us," Peter reminds her. "Are you sure you want to venture so far south?"

"All the more reason to send Susan and Jon together," says Lucy. "He's a Knight of Narnia, named so by Aslan himself for his defeat of the Calormene ambassador. It would remind Calormen we have nothing at all to fear from them."

" _And_ remind them that we're happy to continue our trade relationship, so long as they behave. Most of our trade with Calormen flows through the Lone Islands," he adds for Jon's benefit.

The matter remains unsettled well into the evening. Later, Edmund comes to visit Jon in the chambers he shares with Susan, sitting down with him over a cup of Ettinsmoor ale as has become their custom on certain evenings.

"I'm going to advise Peter that I think you and Susan ought to go to the islands on your own, while Lucy and I remain here with him," Edmund says. "We're all glad to have you here, and call you brother, Jon. You mustn't think for a moment that we don't."

"I don't think that," Jon assures him. He gets on well with all the Pevensies, but with Edmund especially. Edmund's frankness about his boyhood foolishness and treachery, and how he's clearly worked to be worthy of the chance Aslan has given him since then, are qualities Jon thinks are to be admired. He thinks Edmund almost Stark-like in his honesty and his devotion to his sisters. 

"But I think seeing you and Susan so happy in your marriage is a bit much for Peter just now."

That is something Jon had not considered before. "I see." 

"If the two of you are away for a time, I think he can get over the sting of losing Sansa. I'll get him out of the castle as much as possible and keep him well occupied, so that he won't brood overmuch. By the time you return, I promise he'll be much more agreeable to be around. Besides," he added, refilling Jon's cup, "you're newly wed. It will be good for you and Susan to have some time to yourselves, without all of us hanging about. You'll be gone two moons' turn at most, and return just in time for Christmas."

*****

They set out a fortnight later on the great Narnian galleon the _Splendor Hyaline_. Jon knows little about seafaring, but even he can see that she is well-made and beautiful, with an enormous swan carved into the prow, the great white wings stretching back from it nearly to mid-ship, and elegant silken sails. She is the sort of ship that is beautifully made not to be ostentatious, but because those who made her take pride in their work, enjoy making beautiful things, and do it well. The great swan carved into the prow makes him wonder what Arya's ship looks like. Does it have a wolf carved into it? Is there a wolf sigil on the sail? He tries to imagine what that would look like, but the idea of the Stark sigil at sea seems so foreign he can't picture it.

Jon could hardly imagine Ghost at sea, either, but the wolf seems to find his sea legs quick enough. He spends most of his time on deck with Jewel the Mouse, leaning as far over the rail as he dares so he can put his snout in the wind. While Aslan's given him a voice as a reward for his courage, he rarely uses it, preferring to listen far more than he speaks. 

"It's not surprising," Susan replies one afternoon at sea, when Jon comments on it. " _You_ prefer to listen more than you speak, yourself. Why would Ghost be much different? You're rather alike in many ways."

"I don't know," Jon says. "I thought he might have more to say. Suddenly being able to speak after not having the ability all his life."

"He'll let you know when he has something he feels important enough to say, I think. He's no better at idle chit chat than you are. Not that there's anything wrong with that, darling," she says. "I think most of us could do more listening and less talking, myself included."

But it isn't idle chit chat, as she calls it, Jon thinks. Susan has a way of saying things that put people at ease; gods know he's been on the receiving end of her reassurance often enough. It's one of the things he loves about her. Still, he can't help but wonder what Ghost thinks about staying in Narnia and not returning to the North. "It didn't occur to me to ask Ghost what he thought about staying here, not going back to Westeros," Jon admits. 

"I think if he had a strong opinion one way or the other, he would have let you know somehow," Susan says. "Even before he got his voice, he was clearly as intelligent as any Talking Animal. Remember how he wouldn't eat the meat of the Talking Animals the free folk killed before you knew what they were?"

"Aye." And he'd clearly wanted to venture past the Lamp-Post when they'd first found it. "He saw that bear before we did, too."

"So I think if he'd had some objection to remaining here, he would have shown you somehow. But if you truly want to know what he thinks, you can always ask him."

But what if Ghost tells Jon something he doesn't want to hear? He feels foolish for even thinking it. Yet it nags at him a little, wondering if Ghost is truly happy staying here in Narnia. 

What he's thinking must be written clear on his face for Susan to see, for she takes his hand, rubbing her thumb lightly over the back of it. "Darling, don't worry," she says softly. "It's clear to anyone with eyes that Ghost is your dearest friend. He'd never want to leave you, even though he now has his own voice and thoughts."

"I left Ghost once," Jon admits. Twice, truly, but only one of those times had he felt it for good. "When I went south with Daenerys to help her claim King's Landing, I left him with Tormund in the North."

"Why?"

"I thought… I suppose it was craven of me," he says, the words coming reluctantly. There's something about Ghost, about the north and the old gods and the weirwoods, that he thinks would sound foolish if he said it aloud, even to Susan, and he thinks there was a part of him that knew that what he was doing, what Daenerys was doing, wasn't quite right. "I thought I might never come back north. He didn't belong in the south, and I thought he'd be safer with Tormund."

"Did you tell him so?" 

"No. I didn't."

"Then perhaps you should tell him now." There's no judgement in her voice, only gentle compassion. "I'm sure he'll understand, and it will ease your heart to know he does."

And again, Jon marvels at Susan's ability to know just what to say to make him feel better. 

*****

It takes a bit longer to travel to the Lone Islands as it does to travel by ship from Dragonstone to White Harbor, Jon thinks. He's no sailor, and hasn't a true idea of what's a good sailing speed, but the ship's crew seems happy with their progress and so does Susan--at least until midway through the third week at sea, when the wind picks up to a speed that strains the sails and the sea turns rough. It's enough to make Susan rather queasy, and she retreats to their cabin in the stern in hopes of not being sick all over the deck. Jon has difficulty keeping his footing at times, and Ghost, who normally likes to lean over the side with his face into the wind, huddles with Jewel behind a pile of rigging, once catching the Mouse in his strong jaws to keep her from tumbling overboard. Thankfully they're only subjected to two days of this weather before reaching the harbor at Avra.

Susan looks rather green as she emerges from the cabin into the warm sun and fresh breeze of the day. "Ugh," she says, and takes Jon's arm when he offers it. "I've never been sick on a ship before. But we've never had such weather, either."

Jon helps her from the ship into the smaller boat waiting to row them to shore. The small harbor at this little village on Avra isn't big enough for a galleon like the _Splendor Hyaline_. Then he helps her out of the smaller boat, and they stand on the quay for a time, enjoying the feeling of having something solid and unmoving beneath their feet. There's a bustle of activity around them, as the Narnian crew begins unloading the ship, and Jon takes a moment to look around them. The village is small but busy, with shops and houses of sand-colored stone nestled along cobblestone streets. The land slopes gently upward from the shoreline, dotted with palms and crossed with walkways of that same sand-colored stone, and he sees a sprawling manor house halfway up the nearest ridge.

"That's Tullamore," Susan says, gesturing. "We'll be staying there until we visit the Governor in Narrowhaven. Someone will be coming with a wagon to fetch the baggage soon, but do let's walk. It's not so far, and I think it will do me good."

There was little pomp surrounding the royal arrival. Susan had declined the escort of her guards and standard-bearers, asking that they wait and come up with the baggage, so there's little to distinguish them from the other inhabitants of the little village (mostly human, Jon realizes) as they make the walk up to Tullamore, and they attract little notice. "What if there is an attack upon your person, Your Majesty?" Jewel asks.

"I think it quite unlikely, but if such a thing were to happen, I could ask for no better protectors than you and Ghost and my husband," she answers, leaning a little on Jon's arm. "In truth, I still feel a little green, and I'd rather not be noticed until I'm certain I won't be sick on someone's boots."

Tullamore is a large, airy manor house, well-shaded by tall palms and surrounded by lush ferns and beds of flowering plants and foliage which provide a cooling effect. Wide verandas line the front of the house on either side of wide double doors fitted with panes of colored glass. As they get closer, Jon can see the Narnian royal sigil of the golden lion on a field of red worked in some of the panes of glass. While most of the residents of the harbor town had not recognized Susan on their walk through the town, the small, grey-haired man who appears from the double doors to greet them certainly does. 

"Your Majesty," he says, smiling as he bows to Susan, then acknowledges Jon with a smaller bow that is no less polite. "My lord. Welcome to Tullamore."

"Thank you, Leith. It looks lovely as always. We could not ask for a better steward to care for the place in our absence."

"Can we be getting anything for you, Your Majesty?"

"Some tea, I think, and a bite to eat. Something simple. We had rough seas the last few days and I still feel a little unwell, so I will have to hear your report of things a bit later, if that's all right. I think I shall lie down."

"Of course, Your Majesty. Your rooms have been prepared for you, as always, and I will send Eleanor up with tea."

It's quiet in this house, Jon realizes--not that Cair Paravel is noisy, by any stretch, at least not more so than any other great castle Jon's known--but castles are always filled with a certain degree of sound and busyness from all the work it takes to run them. Tullamore is simply quiet. Perhaps it's the soft carpets and filmy curtains lining the halls that dampen sound, or simply that it isn't filled with the bustle of activity that's typical of a castle. Whatever the reason, Jon likes it very much.

There is a great canopied bed in their chambers, and Susan toes off her shoes to lie down upon it almost immediately. "I think I'll feel myself after some tea and a lie-down," she assures him, but she is sound asleep before the tea even arrives. The woman who brings it is as short and grey-haired as the steward who greeted them, though considerably rounder. She sees that Susan is asleep and says nothing, laying the table silently and bowing before she closes the door behind her. 

Jon considers napping for a while himself, but he isn't truly tired and he doesn't want to disturb Susan. He hasn't known her to complain about feeling ill or tired in the time he's known her, so for her to take straight to her bed on arrival is concerning. It's best she gets some rest. Adjacent to the bedchamber is a small solar, equipped with sturdy, comfortable furnishings and walls lined with overstuffed bookshelves. Jewel and Ghost are there, he sees as he closes the door behind him.

"Susan is asleep," he tells them. "I'd like to have a look at the rest of the place, but I don't want to leave her alone." At least, not until her guards have come up from the ship, or she's feeling better, whichever comes first.

Jewel nods. "I will stay here with her, my lord."

That settled, Jon leaves the chamber. Ghost comes along with him without a word, trotting alongside him as he's done so many times before. They explore for a time in a comfortable silence. Past the main bedchambers are what appear to be guest rooms, then an extensive library, sitting rooms, and a hall for feasts or audiences. All of these are connected by corridors that outline a square, and in the center of it is a shaded courtyard with more palm trees and, by the sound of it, at least one fountain. 

"What do you think?" he asks Ghost.

"Of what?" the wolf asks, in his low, raspy voice. Jon is still not used to hearing it.

"This place," Jon replies. He's not quite ready to ask what Ghost thinks of Narnia in general.

"It is suitable." Ghost sniffs the air a bit, then makes a gesture that would be a shrug if he were a human. "The steward smells of fear."

That surprises Jon. The small, grey-haired man whom Susan had addressed as Leith had seemed quite harmless to him. "What's wrong with him? Is he a threat?"

"No. He is loyal to the Narnians and can be trusted. He does not smell of deception. Only fear."

He wonders what the man could possibly have to be afraid of, but Ghost doesn't seem to feel the need to provide any further information. Jon decides to go back inside the house, taking a more careful look this time. A tapestry in the hall catches his eye. Jon hadn't noticed it at first, as he'd simply been getting the lay of the place, but he takes the time to study it now as he has little else to occupy him. The tapestry is an illustration of a battle, depicted in three panels. In the first panel, a man with the lion of Narnia on his surcoat, sword in hand, faces a large black dragon with scales tipped in red, a dragon not dissimilar in appearance to Daenerys's favorite, Drogon. The second panel shows the dragon slain, with what appears to be a spear or scorpion bolt through its eye, and the third panel shows a crowd bowing to the man in the lion surcoat, with the dragon's head upon a spike. 

"There was a dragon terrorizing these islands," Jon explains to Ghost. "And a king of Narnia long ago killed the dragon, and now the Lone Islands are a part of Narnia. At least that's the story that Susan told me."

"Fortunate for the islands," says Ghost. "Are there many dragons in this world?"

"I don't know," says Jon. "I think she would have said, if there were." He studies Ghost for a moment, thinking. It's different between them now that Ghost can talk and think. Jon has always thought Ghost and his littermates more intelligent than other animals, though perhaps not at the level of a human, but he never stopped to consider Ghost's feelings about anything. He'd always assumed that if he was of a mind about something that Ghost would feel the same, and he would be happy wherever Jon wanted to go. But now… "Do you mind that we're staying in Narnia, Ghost?"

Ghost tips his head a little at Jon's question, as if he can't quite make out what Jon is truly asking. "You are happy here," he says, as if that is all the explanation that is necessary. 

Jon kneels down to Ghost's level, to meet his eyes, and as always the wolf's gaze reminds him of the faces in the weirwood trees, those ancient faces that hold the wisdom and knowledge of the old gods. "I'm sorry I left you when I went south with Daenerys."

"It was not a place I could go. Wolves do not belong in the south."

 _No, we don't,_ Jon thinks. "I won't leave you behind again."

"It is in the past," Ghost says, and licks Jon's face with such affection that Jon knows without a doubt that his wolf holds no ill will towards him for it.

*****

Susan is awake when he returns to their chambers, sitting at the table with a cup of tea. There's some pink in her cheeks again and she doesn't look seasick anymore, and he's glad for that. "Hello," she says, giving him a small smile that warms him to his toes. "Jewel said you went for a walk."

"Aye." He sits down at the table with her. "I wanted to get the lay of the place. Are you feeling better?"

"Quite a bit. The nap did wonders. Did you have a chance to look about?"

"I did. It's so _quiet_ here," Jon says. "Peaceful."

"Isn't it?"

"I'm glad we came."

"So am I. I'm looking forward to bringing our child here next time we visit."

"That will be nice," Jon agrees. Susan's giving him a look over her tea cup that gives him pause. What is she… _oh_. "Wait… you said…"

"Our child, yes." 

Jon feels a smile spread across his face; his heart has the meaning of her words, even though his mind is a little behind in absorbing what she's just said. _Our child._ "Truly?"

"Perhaps it's too early to be absolutely certain," Susan allows, her cheeks flushing pink, "but I've reason to think there is more to my feeling poorly than just seasickness." 

Besides deciding that he didn't want any children of his and Susan's to inherit any positions of power, he hasn't had a chance to give much thought to the idea--or, more correctly, he's had the opportunity, but has always shied away from thinking of children as anything more than some nebulous possibility in the distant future. It's not something he's ever been able to allow himself to think of, growing up a bastard, becoming a man of the Night's Watch.

But now, he can think of it.

"Then we ought to turn back to Cair Paravel soon," he decides. "You shouldn't be so far from home when your time comes."

"Darling, it's quite all right," Susan says. "It will be ages yet. It's barely early enough to suspect anything. There's nothing wrong with me but mother's stomach, and that will subside in time. To tell you the truth I'd rather not sail again until I'm feeling better. It will be utterly unbearable if we hit poor weather again at sea."

"Yes, but…" He can't help but think of how Bran had described the circumstances of Jon's own birth: a long labor and a difficult birth that caused Lyanna to bleed to death far from home with no maester or midwife to save her. Who would be able to help Susan if something went amiss here in the Lone Islands, four hundred leagues from Cair Paravel and the healing cordial that had saved Tyrion Lannister from certain death with just a drop?

"Jon." She reaches for his hand, her touch gentle. "It's a time to be happy. Please don't worry. There's plenty of time for me to do what needs to be done here, and we'll be home well before the child comes."

"I _am_ happy." He isn't just saying that to reassure her. There's a warmth that blossomed in his heart when she said _our child_ that he thinks might never go away. What remains of his old family, he and Sansa and Arya and Bran are all scattered the ends of two worlds, but he's building a new one now. These children he and Susan will have together will grow up in peace and safety in Narnia, and they will raise them together.

*****

In the morning, Susan sends a messenger to the governor in Narrowhaven, advising him of her arrival the next day. Then she meets with the steward to get a report of the condition of the estate. She asks Jon to sit in these meetings with her, and as Jon both wants to be useful and has little else to do, he is happy to do so.

The steward's report is unremarkable; the estate is doing well, and kept in good repair. Improvements have been made to the kitchen, a new roof put on the stables, and a new well was dug last month. He brings out the ledgers for Susan's inspection and explains anything she has questions about, and he seems thorough enough in his duties that Jon wonders why Ghost said he smelled fear on him. He looks at Ghost, sitting nearby them, but the wolf seems to have nothing to say.

Their time with the steward seems to be drawing to an end when he says, "Your Majesty, my lord, I wonder if I might show you something."

Perhaps whatever the man wishes them to see is why Ghost smells fear on him, Jon thinks. "Of course," Susan says. "Please lead the way."

Leith leads them through the corridors of Tullamore to the servants' stair, out to the kitchens, and to a cellar beneath the kitchens which he opens with a key from a ring on his belt. It is a wine cellar, cool and dark, and the steward fits a thick white candle into a brass lantern and lights it before they go any further. At the far corner of the wine cellar is another door, which Leith opens with a different key. 

Clearly, whatever is in the cellar is something he doesn't want anyone to stumble upon unawares. 

In this smaller room is a rough wooden table, and on the table is a locked wooden chest which Leith opens with yet another key from his ring. He lifts the lid of the chest and holds the lantern close enough that Jon and Susan can see what is inside of it: a large, pale hunk of stone. 

Not stone, he realizes, as he reaches out to touch it; although it is as hard and smooth as the pale white stone of Longclaw's pommel, it is not cool to the touch as would be expected for a hunk of stone stored in a dark cellar, but faintly warm, and covered in scales veined in red and touched with the faintest shimmer of silver.

It is an egg. 

And while Jon has never seen one before, only heard them described, he is certain that what he sees before him now is a _dragon's_ egg. Ghost reaches up to rest his forepaws on the edge of the table, leaning close to sniff at the egg without touching it. Jewel climbs up the leg of the table to study the egg as well, but like Ghost, she does not touch it.

"Where did you get this?" Jon asks.

"It was found close by, my lord, buried in the earth. Some workers discovered it when the new well was dug, last turn of the moon. I thought it best to keep it hidden until Their Majesties could be told in person. It's a dragon's egg, isn't it, my lord?"

"Aye, it is."

Susan draws in a sharp breath of surprise. She studies the egg carefully but does not reach out her hand to touch it. "You did well to keep it hidden, Leith," she says. "I appreciate your caution and your discretion."

"Thank you, Your Majesty. What is to be done with it?"

Susan looks at Jon, as if to ask his counsel. "For now, it will stay locked away here," Jon decides. He remembers Daenerys telling him how she hatched her dragons' eggs, in the fire of her husband's funeral pyre. A cool, dark cellar is as opposite to a roaring fire as they are like to find on this island. 

Leith places the lantern on the table, away from the egg in the chest, and detaches the three keys from the ring at his belt. "There are other keys to the wine cellar, my lord," he says, giving the keys to Jon, "but not to this room or the chest."

"You've done well," Susan says. "I am sure I do not need to say this to any of you, but the existence of this egg must remain secret. No one must know about it."

"Of course, Your Majesty."

Jon closes the chest and locks it, and locks the room behind them after they leave, and once Leith has escorted them back to the main floor he takes his leave, looking visibly relieved.

"Does he still smell of fear?" Jon asks Ghost, once they have returned to the solar.

"Less so when he gave you the keys. But he still fears it. He does not want it here."

Jon doesn't want the keys any more than Leith did. Having seen first hand the kind of devastation a dragon can inflict, however, it's important that this egg never fall into the wrong hands. Perhaps the egg was laid by the dragon that attacked the islands seven hundred years ago--would it be too old to hatch, the years having turned it to stone? If so, it might be for the best.

"What do _you_ think we should do with it?" Susan asks. "You know far more about dragons than I do."

"It can't hatch." Jon does not know much about dragons, but he knows that. 

"Because of how dangerous dragons are."

"Aye. No one should have that much power. Not even us." 

"Didn't the dragons help you defeat the Night King?"

"They did. And then one dragon helped kill thousands of innocent people. No one can be trusted with that kind of power, Susan. No one." Even if he and Susan and her siblings could be trusted with it… and then what? What about their children, or their children's children; what if they hatch this dragon, and it lays more eggs… it becomes the same power struggle that went on for so many years in Westeros, right here in Narnia.

And that cannot be allowed to happen. 

Aslan has charged the kings and queens of Narnia with the task of keeping the Narnians safe from all who would harm them. It's a task that falls to Jon now, as well. And that includes protecting them from dragons.

"I think you're right," Susan says. "And I think we ought to see if there are any more eggs. If there are, we can keep them safe. Whatever it is that makes a dragon's egg hatch, we need to do the opposite of that." 

"Fire hatches them, I've heard, but not always. There are stories of the old Targaryens putting dragon's eggs in their children's cradles to hatch, so it must not always require fire. I don't know if Narnian dragons are the same, or if… I don't know. Keeping it cool is the best we can do, I think." There's so much he doesn't know and it frustrates him. What he would give to have Sam Tarly and his voracious thirst for reading and knowledge here now! 

"Do you think the egg can be destroyed?" Susan's voice is cautious. "It would be the safest thing."

"Perhaps," Jon says. "But I'm not sure anything we might do to destroy it wouldn't end up hatching it instead."

"Then we must do our best to ensure it does not hatch, and we must ensure there are no others still remaining. Would you choose a party from the guards and crew that sailed with us from Cair Paravel to begin the search?"

"Of course. But Susan--it could take months, perhaps years to be absolutely sure there are no more eggs," Jon says. "And you should not stay here that long."

"We can at least start the search now, and send word to my brothers and sister to send others that we can trust to continue the work," Susan says. "But Jon… would it be so terrible to just… stay here in the Lone Islands for a time? It's so peaceful here, and it would be a lovely place to raise our child. We could visit Narnia whenever we like. I know Peter isn't over Sansa just yet," she goes on, "but eventually, he will be himself again, and he will find someone and marry her and they will have their own children and the throne will pass to them. We could just live simply, here, and not be underfoot."

The idea has a certain appeal, Jon can't deny. It's still Narnia, so she isn't abandoning her duty as a ruler, but it's a simpler life, a smaller life, and it's something Jon desperately craves. "Let's not decide anything yet," he says. 

"Will you think on it, at least?"

"Aye. I will, I promise."

Susan leans in to kiss him, soft and sweet, and it makes the idea even more tempting than it was a moment ago. "Thank you, darling."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Thank you, Lord Hardwin," Susan says, and gestures for him to rise. It is then that Jon gets a good look at him; he seems older than Jon, but not by much, with a face that is entirely unremarkable in every way save for his eyes, which seem to miss nothing. Introductions are made, and when the governor addresses him as _Jon Snow_ it's the first time since his marriage to Susan that Jon feels any sting at his lack of title. When the Narnians call him _Ser Jon_ or _my lord_ he doesn't feel he deserves it, but coming from the governor his own name feels almost a slight.
> 
> It is completely ridiculous to feel slighted by his _own name_ , Jon thinks, and he tries not to care. But he feels Susan stiffen beside him, and he knows she's noticed it too.

Mornings have become Jon's favorite time with Susan in these few moons of their marriage. He almost always wakes before she does to find her her soft curves pressed warm against him, a temptation he enjoys _not_ resisting. It's how he wakes this morning, curled close against her back. He slips his palm beneath her thin cotton shift to splay against her belly even though he knows it's early enough that she's hardly sure she's with child, much less that he'd be able to feel any change in her body. There's something about the idea he's got his child on her that heats his blood and he dips his head to nuzzle at her shoulder, breathing in the sweet warmth of her skin. Susan sighs, half-awake, and presses back against him a little.

Gods, but he wants her. 

Another sleepy sigh and she shifts in his arms, the fabric of her shift caught beneath her to pull across her soft, full breasts in the most enticing of ways. He kisses her neck, the soft curve of her jaw, the sweet white length of her throat and she whimpers, reaching for him with hands clumsy with sleep; when Jon tips her onto her back to kiss her properly she slips her fingers into his hair and smiles. It's a smile he sees from her often, one that makes Jon feel as though she's _delighted_ to see him, even if she only saw him moments before. It makes him feel wanted and loved and a great many other things he's still not entirely used to yet.

Then in an instant, her smile disappears, and she shoves him off her to bolt from the bed. It takes Jon half a moment to register what's happened, but the sound of her being sick in the chamber pot makes it all very clear. He sits in bed for a moment, unsure of what to do. It is the empty, painful sort of retching that happens when one has nothing in one's stomach to bring up, and perhaps it would be more unpleasant still to be hovered over while it happens.

But he hates feeling useless as much as he hates seeing Susan in distress, so he gets out of bed, pulls on the breeches he discarded the night before, and kneels beside her, gathering her hair in his hands to keep it out of the way.

"Oh, that's vile," she says presently. Her eyes are tightly shut, as if she's afraid opening them again will bring on another bout of retching.

Jon wets a cloth with water from the ewer, wrings it out, and presses it into her hand. "Here." He thinks it unlikely to help but it also cannot hurt. 

Susan presses the cloth to her cheeks and brow and takes a careful breath. "Your son is a menace already." She still looks pale and rather green but her voice is faintly teasing, and Jon can't help but smile a little. 

"I feel I should be sorry about this, and I am, but perhaps not as much as I should be." He doesn't like to see her so ill, but to know it's because she's with child, not due to a more sinister cause… well. It is a good feeling. "What can I do?"

"Send for tea? I think I shall be all right in a moment."

He does as she asks, then helps her to sit on the window-seat with the window pushed open for a breath of fresh air. But the maid who brings the tea also brings what is usual for them to have to break their fast--boiled eggs, sausages, a rasher of bacon--and the smell of it makes her sick again. "Take it all away," Jon tells the maid, practically pushing her out the door. "Leave the tea and the toast. I'll send for you if she wants something else."

The maid apologizes profusely and scurries away with the offending food, and Susan leans against the wall of the window-seat with her face in the faint breeze from outside. "Do you know the worst thing?" Her shift is damp with sweat from the exertion of being ill, and she pulls it away from her skin. "I'm so terribly hungry. But the thought of a bite of anything is a misery."

"Don't think of food. Just sit there for a time." He pours a cup of tea, adding a generous measure of sugar before giving it to her. "Only a little of this, all right?" He has no idea what he's doing, having no experience with women with child, but he thinks if he behaves as if he does it might give her one less thing to worry about and make her feel somewhat better. 

"But we don't have time to just sit here. We're to go to Narrowhaven today, to meet with the Governor."

"He can wait. It's early in the day. We can always blame some difficulty with the ship for any delay, if you'd rather not speak of the babe to anyone yet." It amazes him how quickly the idea to lie comes to his mind. It does not sit well with him to tell an untruth, but the thought of rushing Susan to meet with this governor when their child is making her so ill is appalling. And if they must take a ship to Narrowhaven, she is like to feel worse.

"I would like to shout it from the rooftops, in time," Susan says, "but not yet. Not before I've had a chance to tell Peter and Edmund and Lucy. They should hear it first. For now… let it be our secret."

"All right." The tea and the air seem to have brought a hint of pink back to her cheeks, and Jon is heartened by it. Presently she tries a bit of toast, and after it stays down she sends for her maid to help her bathe and dress. Jon dresses quickly and takes his own breakfast in the solar with Jewel and Ghost, where Susan cannot smell it; then he and Ghost go to see what arrangements he can make for the search for any further dragon's eggs that might be hidden in the area. 

He finds the steward, Leith, who introduces him to Androw and Hedyn, two builders from the village who are tasked with the maintenance of the buildings and grounds of Tullamore, and who supervised the crew who dug the new well in which the dragon's egg was found. 

"I hadn't said a word to no one 'bout that egg, milord," says Androw, nodding energetically enough that his messy brown hair falls into his eyes. "I say nothing good can come from that sort of thing. No sense scarin' people with tales of dragons and all that."

Jon tries not to sigh at the _milord_ ; he isn't lord of anything, but trying to explain that to the Narnians had been futile, especially since his marriage to Susan. A few had taken to calling him _Ser Jon_ after Aslan knighted him, but it seemed they felt _lord_ more appropriate for the husband of one of their queens and it had stuck there. (He's thankful they seem satisfied with the courtesy of _lord_ instead of insisting on more.) It seems the Lone Islanders feel the same. 

"What happened to the egg, milord?" asks Hedyn, who has kept one wary eye on Ghost for the entirety of the short conversation. Jon supposes none of them have ever seen a wolf before.

"It is under guard." Jon has no reason to distrust the men, but no particular reason to trust them with more information than is necessary, either, so he does not give details. "And we don't intend to let it hatch. Queen Susan would like to be sure there are no more eggs lying about. We can't dig up every inch of the island, but she wants a more thorough search of the area where this one was found. Have you a crew of men strong enough for the digging and trustworthy enough to hold their tongues about it?"

"Yes, milord. My sons and my sister's two boys. Mayhap we'll need more men but they'll do for a start."

"Good. Leith will see that you have all that is needful for a thorough search. Her Majesty is traveling to Narrowhaven today, but will want a report when she returns. Let's hope there's nothing to find."

"Yes, milord."

When Jon returns to their chambers, Susan is dressed and nibbling at a piece of toast with jam as she reads something from a scroll. "Oh, you're just in time," she says, passing the scroll to him as he sits. "There's been a message from Edmund."

"Are you feeling better?"

"Yes, quite. I just had to wait for the horrid feeling to pass. It takes its own time, it seems." She spreads a thin layer of blackberry jam on another piece of toast as Jon reads the scroll.

> _Dearest Susan and Jon,_
> 
> _I hope this message finds you well and you've had fair wind on your journey. I'm sorry to say that Peter is still in the darkest of moods. I don't mean to say that he's bitter or angry--it isn't that-- but it's as if he has a little grey cloud above his head that follows him wherever he goes. I had thought that the two of you being away for a bit might help, but it does not seem to have improved his mood. Nor has your absence made it worse, so you mustn't feel badly about being away. I think he had allowed his hopes to get quite ahead of him where Sansa was concerned and it was all the greatest disappointment. (My hope is that Sansa bears this disappointment with a better spirit, though we've had no word from her. I think you should not worry for her silence, Jon, as we know the difficulty with time between our worlds.)_
> 
> _But there is hope yet. Mr. Tumnus came round this evening with word that the White Stag was spotted in the Western Wood, and when I proposed that we should take a party and go after it, Peter showed the most interest he's shown in anything since Sansa left. I think the tale about the wishes is just a fairy story, but does it really matter if it lifts Peter's spirits? So we shall set out on this expedition tomorrow; we've left Lord Peridan to manage things until we return. Perhaps by then, Peter will be more himself again. I do wish you were with us. Enjoy the Islands._
> 
> _With love,_
> 
> _Edmund_

"What's the story about the wishes?" Jon asks, when he's read the message a second time.

"There's a legend that the White Stag will grant wishes to anyone who captures him," Susan explains, starting in on another piece of toast with jam. "It's a fairy story, of course."

Jon wonders if Peter has an idea that if he catches this stag that he'll wish for Sansa's return. That seems foolish, and the Narnian high king doesn't seem like the kind of man who would fall for such fancies; then again, Peter hadn't seemed the kind of man to fall desperately in love with a woman on a short acquaintance, either. "I suppose they're well on their way west by now," Jon says.

"It would have taken a few days for Swiftalon to bring the message, yes," Susan says. "Not as long as it took us to sail here. I do hope they catch the Stag and it lifts Peter's mood. I've hated seeing him so gloomy. I had a mind to write back and tell them about the baby, but I may wait a bit. I'm not sure if the news would cheer him, or if it would just remind him of what he won't have with Sansa."

Jon doesn't mind her keeping it quiet a little longer. He likes that there's something only they know, for now. "There's no rush to tell." 

"You're right." She finishes her toast, eyeing the last piece remaining on the plate as if deciding whether she ought to risk it coming back up again. "Do you know, I have the queerest feeling. As if there's about to be some great change in the world."

"Aye," Jon allows. "I expect it's normal to feel that way when you know there's a babe to be born." Not that he has any first hand knowlege of this until now--it's something he'd speak about with Sam, if he were here, or Ser Davos. He misses their counsel, and it amuses him to think what Sam would say if he saw any of the more unusual creatures of Narnia. 

"I think you're right in that, too." Apparently deciding against further toast, she puts her napkin by her plate. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing. Well, just thinking of my friend Samwell. He has a child--well, two by now," Jon amends, wondering whether Sam and Gilly's babe is a boy or a girl. He hopes it's a girl. "I used to think Sam was the biggest coward I ever knew, but he was brave about a great many things I didn't realize until later." And certainly braver about being a father, given he'd claimed Gilly's son with no hesitation. Jon thinks he could ask Sam questions about being a father he thinks he would be too embarrassed to ask anyone else.

"I wish I could meet him."

"Aye, me too."

There's a knock at the door, and a moment later Leith enters, giving Susan a little bow. "Your Majesty, Captain Ranald has sent word up from the harbor that the ship is ready to leave for Narrowhaven at your convenience."

"Thank you, Leith."

"Are you sure you feel well enough to travel?" Jon can't help but ask, when the door closes behind the steward. 

" _Now_ I do," Susan assures him. "I felt wretched an hour ago but it's much better now. Besides, it's not that far to Narrowhaven."

The journey to Narrowhaven is indeed a short one, and the waters between the islands of Avra and Doorn are calm, but Jon sticks closely by her through it all the same. Susan had felt poorly on their arrival on Avra and had preferred not to draw attention at the time, but now that she's feeling better she's allowed a little more ceremony. The Narnian lion banners hang all about the town and on the railings of the _Splendor Hyaline_ , and flutter all over the docks at Narrowhaven when they arrive. The governor's men are waiting for them at the harbor with a fine pair of horses, and it's a pleasant ride through the town and the crowd that has gathered for the queen's arrival. Jon thinks it was wise for Susan to come even if the rest of her family did not, instead of asking the governor to come to Cair Paravel; the smallfolk of Narrowhaven seem glad to see their queen, even if it's only one of their queens and not all four of their rulers. Their interest in Jon seems mild, which is perfectly fine with him, though Ghost's presence attracts some stares and whispers, which sits less well with him.

Narrowhaven seems made in of much the same sand-colored stone as the village at Tullamore, though it's somewhat larger. They ride along a wide, cobbled street that winds past little inns, shops, and a large, open-air market where business has clearly been put on hold for the queen's arrival. There are gardens shaded by palms, pools and fountains with children (and not a few animals) playing in them, and then at the end of the street is a building of honey-colored stone that is too small to be a proper castle but too large to be merely a house; _Honeygrove_ , Jon remembers Susan explaining, when she'd laid out what their trip to Narrowhaven would entail. They'll be here a few days while Susan holds her meetings with the governor and audiences with the people, and then they'll return to Tullamore. Jon thinks he'll be glad when they are on the other island. Narrowhaven isn't unlikeable, but it's larger and more boisterous than the village at Tullamore and there are far more people. He likes the quiet better.

The governor is waiting in the yard to greet them, along with what seems most of the household servants and a handful of other official-looking types. He takes a knee when Susan dismounts and the others gathered there do so as well. "Your Majesty," he says. "Honeygrove is honored by your presence."

"Thank you, Lord Hardwin," Susan says, and gestures for him to rise. It is then that Jon gets a good look at him; he seems older than Jon, but not by much, with a face that is entirely unremarkable in every way save for his eyes, which seem to miss nothing. Introductions are made, and when the governor addresses him as _Jon Snow_ it's the first time since his marriage to Susan that Jon feels any sting at his lack of title. When the Narnians call him _Ser Jon_ or _my lord_ he doesn't feel he deserves it, but coming from the governor his own name feels almost a slight.

It is completely ridiculous to feel slighted by his _own name_ , Jon thinks, and he tries not to care. But he feels Susan stiffen beside him, and he knows she's noticed it too.

Jewel seems to have her own opinion of the matter, however, and she is not avoidant to confrontation. "Jon Snow is a Knight of Narnia, _my lord_ ," she says stiffly, her whiskers quivering in indignation. "Named so by Aslan himself. So he is properly addressed as _Ser Jon_ , though _my lord_ is also courteous." A soft, rumbling growl from Ghost indicates _his_ opinion on the situation.

Hardwin's eyes flick from Jewel to Ghost in half a moment, settling on Jon with an expression as bland as milk. "Forgive me, Ser Jon," he says easily. "I meant no disrespect."

"There's nothing to forgive." Jon doesn't want to linger on it, and when Susan takes his arm to go inside he pushes it out of his mind.

The afternoon is taken up with Lord Hardwin giving his report to Susan. The governor seems less free with his disclousures than the steward at Tullamore had been; his impatience at her clarifying questions is barely concealed, and his explanations are peppered with numerous repetitions of _as the High King knows_ and _as your brother and I have discussed_ to make him sound nearly as circuitious as the Calormene ambassador, with a side of the particular kind of annoyance that only comes from a man who resents a woman's rule. 

"And this expenditure?" Susan draws her finger down one page of the ledger. "Eighty Calormene crescents?" 

"A repair of the retaining wall behind Honeygrove, my queen. It was damaged in the spring flood." 

She turns one page, then another. "And this one? Two hundred crescents?"

"Medicines for the sickness that followed the spring flood," he answers.

"I see." Susan draws her hand away from the ledger, folding her hands in her lap. "It seems you have taken good care of what has been entrusted to you, Governor. I'm glad you explained all of these figures to me--goodness, I don't think I could have worked it out all on my own. Thank you for your leadership."

"It is my pleasure to continue to serve Narnia, my queen, as did my father and his father before him." Lord Hardwin motions to three servants waiting nearby, who begin to gather up the ledgers. Another servant interrupts him with a whispered word, and he says, "Your Majesty, please make yourself comfortable here in the library. I'll send someone to show you to your rooms so that you can rest before tonight's feast."

As he leaves, Susan touches the sleeve of the young servant gathering the last of the ledgers. "I'm sorry," she says, "but I'm feeling a bit ill just now. Could I trouble you for a cup of tea?" She rests her head in her hands, bracing her elbow on one of the ledgers. "I'm so sorry…"

"Of course, Your Majesty," says the servant, pausing in his collection of the ledgers. "I'll fetch it at once."

"Susan? Are you all right?" She doesn't immediately respond, which sends a shiver of worry down Jon's spine, but as soon as the door closes behind the servant she sits up again, flipping open the ledger and carefully tearing several pages from it. She folds the pages and tucks them into her sleeve, closing the ledger and resting her elbow on it again just before the library door opens again. Jon touches her back, pretending to be concerned (it isn't entirely pretending, which helps with the act). 

"Your Majesty? Ser Jon? I'm to show you to your rooms, if you'll follow me." 

"Her Majesty is not well," Jon says, taking Susan's arm to help her from her chair. She leans on him as if she needs him to steady her, and he's careful to keep her close, though he's more worried about the ledger pages slipping from her sleeve than he is about her fainting at this particular moment. The servant is quite solicitous then, making sympathetic noises and drawing the curtains when she shows them to their rooms. Susan feebly waves off any further offers of assistance from the servant, saying that a good strong cup of tea will likely set her right and letting Jon help her to lie down on the great canopied bed.

As soon as the door is closed behind them, she sits up again. "Jewel, Ghost, please see to the door," she says, drawing out the ledger pages from her sleeve. She crosses the room and opens the drapes at one window. "Come and see this, Jon."

"What is it?"

She takes one of the ledger pages and holds it up to the light from the window. With the light behind it, it's easy for Jon to see what's caught her eye: the entry for _80 crescents_ has clearly been altered. He hadn't been close enough to see it in the library, but with the light behind it it's clear. The original entry was _800_ crescents.

Jon touches the parchment, tracing over the altered entry. "It looks like the original ink was carefully scraped off, the parchment smoothed, and carefully written over." The notation of _800_ was scraped away and _80_ written in its place, slightly larger to fill the space where the extra zero had been. "If it was an honest mistake, it would have been crossed out, with the new figure beside it," he says. "But this was meant to hide the change."

"Yes. And that's not the only one. Look." She takes another page and holds it up to the light, then another, and they discover the alterations together. Some of the changes are small--thirty crescents becomes twenty, twelve crescents becomes ten. There are changes to expenses, and changes to receipts--all of the changes made so that the Pevensies will not realize that the amounts in the official treasury should be higher than what they currently are.

"It's even easier for him to hide the subterfuge because even though the Lone Islands is part of Narnia, they use the Calormene crescent for their currency instead of the Narnian lion," Susan explains. "Because we're so close to Calormen here and they're the largest trading partner, it's simply easier to deal in crescents. So he could hide it in the ledgers, and he could hide it in the rate of exchange when it comes time to pay the annual tribute. Oh, the nerve of him! His father was far more pleasant to deal with--he never would have been so rude to you as his son was earlier, pretending he didn't know how to address you. I was so surprised by his rudeness I couldn't get out the words to correct him."

Ghost growls softly from the door and Jon realizes there are footsteps in the corridor; Susan realizes it too, for she darts for the bed, shoving the parchment sheets under the pillow beneath her head and trying her best to look completely indisposed. It's a servant with the tea, and Jon takes the tray from her with thanks. When she is gone, he goes to sit on the bed beside Susan. 

"The governor is plotting something," she says, reaching for his hand. "We must find out what it is and put a stop to it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo I thought this was going to be a "short" fic of three chapters. Oops. Their adventure will take a _little_ bit longer than I'd planned! Oh well. Enjoy :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon knows he is on rotten ice here; it is himself and Jewel against eight men, perhaps more, once the rest of the crew realizes what's happened. It all hinges on whether these men are ultimately loyal to Sharpe and Hardwin or to the Narnian crown.

"If he is stealing from the official treasury--which is what it looks like to me--that's treason," Jon says. "Is it not?" He would have considered it such if a black brother was diverting gold or provisions from the Night's Watch when he was Lord Commander, or if Winterfell's steward or maester had done so when he was King in the North.

"Yes." Susan's hand trembles a little in his, but her voice is steady. "It is."

"If you remove the governor, is there someone you have in mind to install in his place?"

"I'm not sure. It would depend on how many others are involved in his schemes. If it runs deep, there may not be anyone trustworthy with whom to replace him. I may need to manage things myself until… oh, I can't even send for the others! They are off in the west after that stag!"

"Send Swiftalon back to Cair Paravel to tell Lord Peridan to send more troops immediately. Have him send word to Peter and the others in the west to return as well, if they can be found, but Peridan shouldn't wait for them before he sends the troops." Having traveled north with Peridan on their expedition to find the free folk, Jon finds him in all ways agreeable and worthy of trust. "If Hardwin's been planning this for a time he likely has a significant number of men loyal to him. The Narnians we brought with us might not be enough to keep the peace. And say nothing about your brothers and sister being away," he adds, considering all the possibilities. 

"Yes, you're right. He might try to take advantage of their absence."

Another unpleasant thought has occured to Jon, and he mislikes giving it voice but it is not something he intends to overlook. "And say nothing of the babe. He may think a queen with child a most valuable hostage, if he knows of it. I will _not_ allow him to harm you, I swear it by the old gods and the new and by Aslan himself. But I want us to consider every possibility." Jon has failed to consider every possibility in the past and it cost him his life. He will not allow that to happen to his wife and child.

Susan looks very pale then. "We will need more proof of his schemes," she says. "The pages from the ledger may not be enough evidence to establish his guilt."

From his post at the door, Ghost makes a disgusted noise, half a bark and half a grunt. "I will listen," he says. "I have said nothing to the people here. They may not know I am a Talking Animal, that I understand as well as anyone. I will say nothing, and listen, and let them think I am a mere pet."

"And they may speak more freely thinking you cannot repeat their words," says Jewel. "I too shall listen, in the places that you or Ghost cannot go."

There is little else they can do at this point but watch and listen and be cautious. Susan sends for Swiftalon, giving her message directly instead of in writing. She instructs the Eagle to speak directly to Peridan on arrival, no one else, if Peter and the others have not returned, and he departs immediately for Cair Paravel. 

Then it is time to dress and go down for the feast.

Jon is still unused to these large, festive Narnian celebrations, but he's been to enough of them at this point that he thinks he can give the appearance of being at ease even if he is not. Susan and Jon, as the guests of honor, are seated at the center of the high table, with Lord Hardwin to Susan's right and Lady Hardwin seated to Jon's left. Lady Hardwin is so quiet and unassuming that in Jon's earlier irritation over feeling slighted by his lack of title he had not noticed her when introductions were made, so he makes an effort to speak with her now despite not being as good at conversation as Susan is. To his relief he finds that though Lady Hardwin is quiet, she is not difficult to talk to, and she's fascinated by the story of how he and Susan met and fell in love.

"They say you were married by Aslan himself?" The interest in her voice seems almost childlike, putting him in mind of Sansa when they were young, and her girlish fascination with stories of Jaehaerys and Alysanne, or Florian and Jonquil. 

"Aye," Jon answers. "We hadn't planned it. We just decided to ask, and he agreed. And that was that," he adds. He isn't a very good teller of stories, and he knows it. 

Lady Hardwin does not seem to mind his poor storytelling. " _Oh._ How romantic! And how fortunate to have Aslan's blessing on your marriage," she says wistfully. "I have never seen Aslan. Nor has anyone I know, besides Their Majesties. But I have heard so many things."

"I'm afraid if I tried to describe him, I would do it poorly, my lady," Jon admits. "My wife is much better at words than I am."

"Perhaps ordinary words are not adequate to describe him anyway," Lady Hardwin says. "I think if I should meet him one day I should be quite overwhelmed."

There are sixteen courses and a dozen wines, and nearly every course is accompanied by a different form of entertainment. During the fish course there is a demonstration of dancing from half a dozen young women who wear satin shoes and dance upon their toes to execute intricate sequences of complicated steps, accompanied by a drummer and a piper; a troupe of mummers re-enact the defeat of the dragon at the hands of King Gale as servants bring out the roast, with the part of the dragon played by three men inside a cloth-covered dragon-shaped frame with embroidered scales; and a young man with a clear tenor voice sings as he plays a gilded harp during the first dessert course. The song must have been specially written for Susan, Jon thinks, as he listens to the words.

_There I saw a fair young maid  
like a rose in its richest bloom,  
And her raven hair with blossom arrayed  
Filled the air with a sweet perfume._

_Silver stream, summer song calling from above  
with a beauty beyond compare  
Sweeter than the violin the language of love  
in the heart of my true love fair._

It's a beautiful song, and when the singer is finished Susan compliments both the song and the skill with which he sang it, which makes him blush down to the roots of his hair. "It's a great honor to be chosen to perform at the feast when the kings and queens visit," Lady Hardwin explains to Jon.

"It is so kind of all of you to go to such trouble for us," Susan says. "I know it is such an enormous undertaking to arrange this event, and we are always grateful for it. I'm only sorry that the others were not able to join us this year."

"Yes, why is that?" asks Lord Hardwin (somewhat rudely, Jon thinks). "Of course we are honored by your presence, Your Majesty, but your royal brothers are greatly missed."

"It has been a tumultous year for us, my lord," says Susan. Jon is aware that she has been both annoyed by his earlier rudeness and frightened by what he may be plotting, but there is no outward sign of either of those emotions in her now; her voice is calm and her manner gentle. "With the Calormene conflicts and the war with Ettinsmoor, as well as the arrival of Jon and his people from Westeros, things have been in an upheaval. There were many matters at home that needed my brothers' attention just now, so they were unable to make the trip. Besides," she adds, with a soft smile at Jon, "it has been so lovely to introduce my husband to these beautiful islands. You have been most hospitable, and it is good to see the islands flourishing under your capable leadership."

That seems to mollify the governor and he gestures for a servant to bring more wine. There is a final performance then, from a group of children who sing a song about the beauty of the Lone Islands and their love for it in sweet treble voices. Jon does not have much of an ear for music but even he can appreciate how skilled the children are. Lady Hardwin explains that this is the traditional song to complete the performances at this feast, and points out her son Owin in the front row of the group. He seems no older than five or six, with the same pale blond hair as his mother. 

"He's a lovely boy," Susan says, when the song is finished. "You must be very proud of him."

"We are, Your Majesty," Lady Hardwin says, beaming.

"Perhaps he might foster with us at Cair Paravel for a time, when he is a little older," Susan suggests. "We would be delighted to have him."

Lady Hardwin nods and is about to respond when her husband puts his goblet down heavily on the table, cutting her off. "I have already made arrangements to foster him with the King of Terebinthia," he says, his voice making it clear that he considers the matter settled. Then he rises and extends a hand to Susan. "Your Majesty, it is time to open the dancing. Would you do me the honor?"

Jon is certain Susan would rather do _anything_ else at that moment than dance with the Governor of the Lone Islands, but there is no polite way to refuse, so she does not. Instead she takes his hand and lets him lead her out into the space that has been cleared for dancing. Jon realizes the same will be expected of him with Lady Hardwin, and leads her onto the floor as well.

"It is very kind of Queen Susan to offer to foster Owin with you at Cair Paravel," she says, after an awkward silence in which Jon tries to work out the steps of the dance. Thankfully she is a skilled dancer and keeps him from embarrassing himself overmuch. "I did not know my husband had already made arrangements with my father."

"Your father is the King of Terebinthia?" He remembers seeing the island of Terebinthia marked on one of the Narnian maps, and if he remembers correctly it is not too far from here.

"Yes, my lord. I suppose my husband wants to keep Owin close, which is understandable. But I think he would learn more of the world at Cair Paravel. He will be Governor of the Lone Islands one day, as my husband's late father was before him, so learning Narnian ways will be important."

Jon can't fault her logic. None of the Stark boys were fostered out, and of course Jon, growing up as a bastard, would not have been in any case; but in Westeros it is common for highborn boys to be fostered with other great families in their formative years to build relationships and strengthen alliances. He thinks the same must be true of highborn children in this world. "It's some years yet," Jon allows. "Perhaps your husband might change his mind in time."

"Perhaps." Lady Hardwin looks doubtful.

Jon wonders if Lady Hardwin is aware of the state of the ledgers, or any schemes in which her husband might be involved. He somehow thinks not. She seems far too innocent and good natured for any duplicity--but Jon reminds himself that he's been fooled by people before, and perhaps she is complicit in her husband's corruption and her sweet disposition is merely an act. "I could speak to King Peter when we return to Narnia, if you like," he offers, testing the waters a bit. "The suggestion to foster your son might be better received from the High King."

"It would be most kind of you, my lord. My husband greatly values His Majesty's opinion."

Does he, though? Jon wonders if the governor considers Peter's absence a slight, and that's what's put him in such a hostile mood. Then he thinks of the ledgers, and the calculated changes clearly made over a great span of time, and thinks it unlikely. "I'll speak with him, then."

The dance ends and Jon returns Lady Hardwin to her husband, but it falls on Susan to dance with a few other high lords present, which means that Jon is obligated to partner their wives in return. Instead of dwelling on how he mislikes dancing when it is not with Susan (or Lucy) he decides to do what he thinks Sansa might do, if she were here, and use the opportunity to watch and listen, to learn what he can about the Lone Islands and the people who live here. 

To his surprise, there is quite a bit that can be learned through tedious small talk.

From Lady Sharpe, the wife of the minister of trade, he learns that the markets of the Lone Islands are doing more business now than they have in the last ten years, a fact she reveals when he offhandedly compliments her gown. The compliment was mostly because Jon could not think of anything else to say, not because he found her gown particularly interesting. But it causes her to explain at length how her husband was able to afford to buy her a substantial new wardrobe, mostly comprised of Calormene silk, which he brought back from that land himself when last he traveled there (he's been there thrice in the last year alone). The wife of the minister of ships, Lady Glascock, blushes when he compliments the ruby at her throat, and tells Jon it was a gift from her husband after his trip to Calormen in the spring. When he asks if the spring flood kept them busy, she expresses confusion and says he must be mistaken, as they've only had normal amounts of rain so far this year. And Lady Carey, the wife of the minister of laws, takes a decidedly flirtatious tone with Jon when she tells him that her husband has been working incredibly long hours at the Governor's request, and that those long working hours have been _terribly lonesome_ for her.

"It simply isn't fair," she says, pouting a little, as she shifts in Jon's arms to put herself far closer to him than is necessary for this sort of dancing, which gives her the opportunity to trace her fingers along his shoulder and down his arm. "We've only been wed a year and he's hardly ever home. He's gone so much more these days I think I'll forget what he looks like."

"That's unfortunate." Jon is not entirely sure what else he can say in response to _that_ , so he spins her around and when she's facing him again she's at a much more appropriate distance than she was before. She seems annoyed with his insistence to keep her at arms' length and stalks off in a huff after the dance is over. 

And then, mercifully, he is able to claim his wife for a dance again. "The governor's ministers have been making quite a few trips to Calormen as of late," he murmurs, holding Susan close. "Their wives cannot stop talking about the treasures they've acquired as a result. And the minister of laws has been so occupied he cannot even pay attention to his new bride." It isn't evidence of anything specific, but it's reason enough not to trust them. And the fact that Lady Carey felt brave enough to flirt brazenly with him right under Susan's nose tells him somewhat about the opinion of at least some of the ladies of the court at Honeygrove toward their Narnian rulers. 

"Their husbands were as courteous as ever," Susan says, "but the governor himself feels… wrong, somehow. His father was never so chilly or rude. Lady Hardwin seems nice enough, but I don't trust anyone, Jon. I truly don't."

Neither does Jon, and when they return to their chambers very late in the evening, he ensures that the guards outside the door are Narnians, not the governor's men. Ghost and Jewel are nowhere to be found. He hopes it's because they are spying and not because something has happened to them; he thinks he would _know_ , if something had happened to Ghost, and he takes comfort in that. Still, Jon sleeps little and that poorly.

Susan is ill again in the morning. She's learning quickly what does and does not help, though, and a cool cloth, fresh air, and some weak tea seem to calm her stomach enough that by the time Ghost and Jewel appear, she's willing to risk a few bites of toast. 

"We explored last night, Your Majesty," Jewel says with a yawn. "I searched the estate, while Ghost examined the grounds. Do you remember how the governor said that there was a flood in the spring and that the eighty crescents was to repair the retaining wall? Well, Ghost found no evidence of any damage or repairs in the walls there at all."

"I did find something elsewhere in the town," Ghost says. "In the fountain in the center of the square. Something was dug there some months ago, and then repaired. It smells new."

"Why would he lie about something as meaningless as the fountain?" Susan says. "Why didn't he just say there was a repair there, instead of concocting some story about the retaining wall?"

"He didn't want you to go and look at the fountain," Jon says. "Just like he didn't want you to spend too long looking at the ledgers, and he didn't tell you about all the trips his ministers have made to Calormen. He knows that relations with Calormen and Narnia are strained--he should have told you about these trips, but he did not."

"He smells of deception," says Ghost.

"After the feast, he met with some of his ministers in his solar," Jewel says. "Lord Glascock and Lord Sharpe. It took me a long time to find a way into his room, so I did not hear all that was said. But when I did, I hid beneath the wardrobe and listened. Lord Sharpe said that the Tisroc has agreed to a sum of a hundred thousand crescents for 'the latest delivery' and that he would depart tomorrow--today, that is, after his audience with Your Majesty--for Calormen to complete the transaction."

"A hundred thousand crescents!" Susan exclaims. "What in the world could he have offered the Tisroc that he would be willing to pay such an enormous sum for it?"

"Perhaps he means to give you to the Tisroc, Susan," Ghost suggests, half-growling at it, and Jon feels a rush of anger at the idea.

"I don't think so," Susan says. "This has clearly been planned for some time, and it was only recently that the governor learned it would be only Jon and me, and not the others. He would not have dared to raise a hand against me if Peter and the others were here, and I don't think he would have had time to create such a plan with Calormen after he learned they were not coming."

"I think it is something he already has in his possession," Jewel says. "I can go down to the quay right now and stow aboard the ship. Whatever it is, they are likely preparing it as we speak."

"Shall I go, too?" asks Ghost.

"No, you stay here with Susan," says Jon. If he cannot stay with her, then Ghost must. He cannot send Jewel to apprehend this man alone, nor can he leave Susan with anyone else. "Jewel, go now; I will follow you a bit later." The Mouse bows and scampers away. "Susan, you should have your audience as planned. If you cancel it, they'll suspect we know. We'll find out what Lord Sharpe is planning and stop him if we can. Keep Ghost and your men close. We don't know how many are loyal to the governor and if they'll rise against you if we arrest him."

"I wish we could wait until our reinforcements arrive," Susan says, "but we can't risk it. Not if Sharpe is sailing for Calormen today--whatever deal they have made cannot be allowed to happen. They must be stopped and their scheme exposed." She throws her arms around Jon's neck, holding him tightly, and he can feel her trembling with fear. "Darling, be careful."

"I will." His embrace nearly lifts her off her feet and when she lets go of him, he cups her face in his hands and kisses her deeply. "Ghost will protect you until I return."

*****

Some snooping in the lower levels of the house brings him to the armory, where he trades his Narnian tunic for a tunic, cloak, and helm of Honeygrove's household guard. He keeps Longclaw, trusting no sword but his own, but the cloak conceals it well enough for the short time he'll need the deception. Then he makes his way down to the quay, where a ship similar in size to the _Splendor Hyaline_ is docked beside it. There is a bored-looking guard at the foot of the gangway of the other ship. Jon walks up to the gangway and takes up a spot on the other side as if he's supposed to be there.

"You're late," says the guard, as if he could not care less.

"Sorry," Jon says, and shrugs.

The guard shrugs as well, hooks his thumbs into his swordbelt, and continues looking bored. There is a long time before anyone else approaches the ship, and Jon fights the urge to fidget or ask questions. When is Sharpe's audience with Susan, and how long will it take? What if something has gone wrong in the audience chamber? He has no sense of what Ghost is doing, has no idea if Jewel made it to the ship already, and the waiting is driving him mad. The borrowed helm is slightly too small for his head and as the sun rises in the sky, it grows hotter and more uncomfortable, but he doesn't dare remove it and give himself away. Jon just stands there as still as if he is actually a guard on duty, feeling sweat run down the back of his neck and down his tunic as the sun gets hotter and hotter.

After some time, perhaps two hours or more, a group emerges from the house and makes its way down to the quay. Lord Sharpe is among them, accompanied by half a dozen of his household guard carrying chest on poles between them. Jon watches them as they approach and then walk past him, then turns to follow them up the gangway.

"Where are you going?" asks the other guard, but Jon ignores him, pulling off his helmet to toss it aside before launching himself at Lord Sharpe. His guards, having their hands full of the chest, are slow to respond, and Jon has Sharpe pinned to the deck with Jon's knee in his back and Jon's knife at his throat before anyone can stop him. 

"How dare you!" Sharpe sputters, his face an angry purple, as he struggles; but try as he might, he cannot dislodge Jon, for he is an older man who has spent too many years shuffling papers and too little swinging a sword.

"I might ask you the same, _my lord_ ," Jon grunts, giving him a shove with his knee. "Jewel!" He hopes like hell the Mouse is on board, as she promised, but he needn't have doubted, for she instantly appears at his call, tiny rapier in hand. "Take his keys. They're on his belt. The rest of you, put that chest down," he says to the guards, "And drop your weapons. If you don't, I'll slit his throat."

The guards hesitate, and perhaps consider defying him, but after a moment they put the chest down and toss their swords to the deck. Jewel scampers across the deck, tugging the keys free from Sharpe's belt as he sputters and grunts and struggles harder when he feels the bite of Jon's knife at his neck. She tugs the keys free, and Jon nods at the chest. "Open it," he says. 

"Who the hell are you?" asks the guard who had been with Jon at the bottom of the gangway, stepping between Jewel and the chest.

"I'm Jon Snow, husband to Queen Susan," he says, "and I'm arresting Lord Sharpe on charges of treason. Whatever's in that chest is destined for Calormen, for a price of a hundred thousand crescents, without Her Majesty's knowledge or approval. Now step aside, or you'll join Lord Sharpe in the dungeon."

Jon knows he is on rotten ice here; it is himself and Jewel against eight men, perhaps more, once the rest of the crew realizes what's happened. It all hinges on whether these men are ultimately loyal to Sharpe and Hardwin or to the Narnian crown. The guard looks from Jewel to Jon and to Sharpe shrieking with rage beneath Jon's knee, then backs away, gesturing to the chest. "Let's see it then," the guard says. 

Jewel tries one key, then another; the third key fits the lock, and she tugs it loose, pushing the hasp free. It's well oiled and moves easily, but the lid of the chest is too heavy for her and she struggles. The guard steps close and helps Jewel lift the lid, pushing it back for all to see.

Inside the chest, nestled on a bed of green velvet, is a glistening golden dragon egg.

It has been a long time since Jon has felt the kind of rage he feels now, and he shoves Sharpe's face into the deck enough to make the man howl with pain when his nose cracks against the deckboards. "You fucking _traitor_!" Jon growls, yanking Sharpe's head back by his short grey hair. "You stupid--you fool! Do you realize what you have here?" 

"What is it?" asks one of the guards.

"It's a _dragon's egg_ ," Jon says. "And this traitor was going to sell it to the Tisroc of Calormen."

There's a low murmur from the guards, and Jon thinks it sounds something like dismay. Jon shifts to pull Sharpe's arms behind his back, dropping his knife to bind the man's hands with a length of cord he pulls from a pocket in his cloak. None of the guards make a move to stop him, even as Sharpe sputters and whines and orders them to intervene. "Close that chest and take it back up to Honeygrove," he says to them. "We'll take it directly to where Her Majesty is holding her audience."

The guards hesitate, but only for a moment, and Jon tries not to let his relief show when they pick up the chest and start back along the road to Honeygrove. Jon and Jewel follow behind them. Jewel has her rapier drawn; Jon keeps his knife in one hand and the other on Sharpe, who is well bound and spitting blood from his dripping nose. "Lord Hardwin won't stand for this," he warns Jon, but Jon is past caring about anything Sharpe has to say. He remembers what Jewel said about the meeting she overheard--that the hundred thousand crescents is for the _last delivery_. If Hardwin and Sharpe have already sold one or more dragon eggs to the Tisroc, and the Tisroc manages to _hatch_ them… Jon feels a sickening mix of rage and fear coil in his guts at the idea of what might happen then. 

When they reach the hall, Jon pushes past the guards with the chest to the front of the audience gathered there. Susan is seated on a dais at the far end of the hall, with Ghost at her side and Lord Hardwin nearby, listening to two men discuss something before her. When she sees Jon press to the front of the crowd she gestures for him to come forward. 

The two men who were speaking to Susan step aside when they see Jon and his prisoner. Hardwin wears his usual bland-as-milk expression, but there are spots of color in his cheeks that give away his reaction. "My lord," he says, "what is the meaning of this?"

Jon shoves Lord Sharpe to his knees, and off to the side, where the ladies of the court are seated on cushioned benches, there is a cry of dismay from his wife. Jon ignores her. "This man was set to leave for Calormen, Your Majesty," he says, as the guards bring the chest forward and place it before Susan. "He had this dragon's egg in his possession, and intended to sell it to the Tisroc for a hundred thousand crescents."

There is an agitated murmur from the crowd, and Jon mislikes the fear he knows the knowledge of the egg will cause, as well as surprising Susan with the knowledge of another dragon's egg. But there is nothing to be done for it. Since they have only a small Narnian force with them, it is necessary to sway the general opinion to Susan's side as soon as possible by uncovering Hardwin's treason publicly and swiftly. If they keep it quiet, the opportunity for distrust to fester is too great. 

Susan steps down from the dais, Ghost following closely alongside her, and lifts the lid of the chest; when she sees the dragon's egg, her face goes deathly pale. Lord Hardwin does an excellent imitation of someone experiencing a great surprise. "A dragon's egg? Where did this come from?"

"Don't pretend you don't know," Susan says, turning on him. "This entire--all of this was your scheme."

"Ridiculous," says Lord Hardwin. "I would never--"

"I heard your plans, last night after the feast," Jewel says. "You've already sold something to the Tisroc, for Lord Sharpe told you and Lord Glascock that he would pay you a hundred thousand crescents for _the last delivery_."

"Your Majesty misunderstands," Hardwin says with a sigh. "If I might have a moment to explain--"

"I do not _misunderstand_ anything," Susan says, cold fury in her voice. "I understand perfectly well that you have altered the ledgers of the royal treasury to hide the amounts you were keeping for yourself, and that you have sold something extremely valuable and dangerous to another kingdom. I name it treason, and place you under arrest in the name of my brother Peter, the High King of Narnia and Emperor of the Lone Islands." She nods at her guards, who move to arrest Hardwin, but he bolts for the doors, and perhaps he might have escaped them if it were not for Ghost, who runs him down and knocks him to the floor, his snapping jaws just inches from the man's face. A pair of centaurs from the Narnian guards pull the governor to his feet. 

"Find Lord Glascock and arrest him," Susan says. "Put them all in cells under heavy guard. They will stay there until we discover just how deep their treachery goes. No one is to leave the premises without my permission. Lady Hardwin and her son, Lady Glascock, and Lady Sharpe are to be kept under guard. Not imprisoned," Susan clarifies. "Only guarded, unless we find evidence that they were complicit in their husbands' crimes."

It is only after the centaurs have cleared the hall, taking the traitors to the cells and their wives to be kept more gently but still under guard, that Jon feels the situation is somewhat under their control. "A dragon's egg," Susan says, and sits down very suddenly on the nearest bench. 

"Perhaps more than one," Jewel says. 

"I cannot believe it." The anger has left her voice, leaving fear and exhaustion in its wake. "Calormen may already have a dragon's egg, and now we have _two_." She reaches up to pull her delicate golden crown from her hair and drop it in her lap, as if she cannot bear the weight of it for a moment longer. "I do not know what we are to do about any of them."

"I suppose going into Calormen to take the egg by force, if they have one, is out of the question?" Jon asks.

"It cannot be done. There is so much bad blood between our countries now that a diplomatic envoy would not be received, and their army--their whole _country_ \--is several times the size of ours. We would not succeed."

"If the Tisroc has an egg, and he hatches it--"

"I know, Jon. I _know_. You've told me what dragons can do, and the idea that it might happen here in Narnia frightens me to my bones. But we do not have the strength to invade Calormen for something we may not even find. It would be suicide."

She is right, Jon knows. But he does not like it. "What will you do with the traitors?"

"They will be questioned until we have learned the extent of their schemes. We need to be prepared for whatever damage they have caused. And then the guilty will be put to death."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song sung at the feast is based on "Summer Song" by the Irish choral group Anuna. You should look them up on YouTube. :) Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What if Aslan was watching over you, even then?" she asks. "And he knew it was not your time to come to his country? For if you had been taken to Aslan's country when you died, you might not have wanted to return to Westeros, when it had treated you so poorly."

Susan does not question the governor and his accomplices immediately. The first thing she does, after ordering that no one shall leave Honeygrove without her consent, is instruct that all the governor's ledgers, records, correspondence, and other papers be brought to the great hall immediately. She also sends her men to the residences of Lord Glascock and Lord Sharpe to have their effects seized and brought to Honeygrove to be examined.

It takes some time for this to be carried out. Every table that can be moved is brought to the hall and laid out in rows, and little by little, boxes and baskets and crates of books and scrolls are brought in and set upon them. It takes two days for everything to be brought in and organized. Susan and Jon and Jewel look over every piece of it, examining every ledger entry and reading every scroll and paper that might reveal more information about the governor's schemes. Ghost cannot help them with this, for although Aslan gave him the speech and intelligence of a Talking Animal, these gifts apparently did not extend to the ability to read. It isn't something that had occurred to Jon before this moment.

"You've never been taught, of course," says Jewel, as if it is perfectly logical. "No one is born knowing how to read. They must learn. I'm sure you could learn if you wanted, if you had a proper tutor."

Ghost looks at the stacks of ledgers and papers with dislike. "I have never seen words on paper bring joy to anyone," he says. "There is no need to learn."

"These certainly bring no joy to me," Susan agrees. She has been carefully copying entries from the ledgers onto another parchment; when sums are discovered to have been changed, she copies the original number into one column and the changed number into another. It is the sort of work suitable for a Hand, or a master of coin, not a queen, Jon thinks, but the Pevensies have neither, functioning as their own small council. "I am terrible with sums. Lucy and Edmund are far better than I am. I can get through a column of numbers and not realize until the end that I've added them wrongly."

"You shouldn't do all this yourself. Surely there are those among your men who can read and do sums?" Jewel can do both, clearly, so there's no reason why fauns and centaurs cannot do the same.

"I need to be sure. I need to know what it is we've discovered, without depending on someone else to read all of this and interpret it and tell me what it means." She puts down her quill and sighs. "When Peter and the others join us, I want to be able to explain what's happened here. And if we're to counter whatever damage they've done, we must be sure of the full extent of it."

There's a knock at the door, and one of the centaurs enters. "Your Majesty?"

"Yes, Anterios. What is it?"

"Lord Carey wishes an audience, Your Majesty," says the centaur. "He claims to have information about the governor."

Jon's first thought is to wonder why the man has waited until now to say anything. Perhaps he will explain himself. "Only Lord Carey?"

"Yes, my lord. He is alone."

That is a mercy. Jon would be happy to never see the flirtatious Lady Carey again. He glances at Susan, who nods. "You may send him in," she says.

Lord Carey, the minister of laws, is an older man, tall and lean, with close-cropped grey hair. When he bows, his expression is solemn. "Your Majesty."

"You have information you would like to share?" Susan folds her hands in her lap but does not indicate that Lord Carey may sit, so he remains standing.

"Yes, Your Majesty." He glances at Jon. "As you may not know, my lord, I shall say that the late Lord Quistan Hardwin, the governor's father, was loyal to the Narnian crown. He, like many of us, was glad that Their Majesties defeated the White Witch and put an end to the Hundred-Year-Winter. Her reign did not affect the Lone Islands in the same way as the Narnian mainland, but we were glad to see the end of her, and the return of Aslan, all the same. I served for many years as Lord Quistan's minister of laws. When he passed and Lord Ewan became governor, I continued to serve him as I had his father."

"I see," says Jon.

Carey looks at Susan again and continues. "But he has of late been of the opinion that the Lone Islands ought to be a free and independent nation, as it was in the days before King Gale and the dragon."

"An independent nation?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"Please explain."

"Lord Hardwin had begun to chafe at the annual tribute due the Narnian crown and was looking for ways to reduce the payment. There has been a dramatic increase in profit from trade in the last five years or so, thus an increase in the percentage due as tribute. He felt that the islands were not enjoying the full benefit of the growth of trade, and that the increased tribute did not bring an increased benefit in return from the Narnian crown."

"Do you share his sentiment?"

Lord Carey appears to think on this before responding. "I don't… disagree entirely, Your Majesty," he says, in as respectful a way as such a thing can be said. From the end of the table, Ghost growls softly, and Carey glances at him uneasily before continuing. "I mean to say, I didn't disagree. At first. I thought perhaps there was a benefit to separating ourselves from Narnia. But I urged Lord Hardwin to do nothing rash, to see if there was a diplomatic solution, something in the law that might allow us to come to a peaceful resolution where we might remain allies. I've spent months in research and study of the archives of our laws and history."

"And what did you find?"

"There is nothing in the law preventing the Lone Islands from becoming independent again, provided it is agreed to by the current Emperor--your brother the High King--and the governor. But my study convinced me that it would not be wise. Narnia is small, but the Lone Islands are even smaller. It benefits both lands to remain one dominion, under Aslan's protection. I became more convinced of this when Your Majesty rejected the suit of the Calormene Crown Prince Rabadash; his behavior afterward was a reminder that the Calormenes are never to be trusted, no matter how much gold they bring to our markets. It is better that the Lone Islands remain Narnian, and the entire area--Narnia, Archenland, Galma, Terebinthia, and the Seven Isles--allied against Calormen. If we dissolved our union with Narnia, Calormen would simply gobble us up."

"Then why is the governor selling _dragon eggs_ to the Tisroc?" Jon asks.

"I do not know, my lord," says Lord Carey. "When I told Lord Hardwin what I thought about his idea of secession, I could tell he didn't like it, but I thought that was the end of the matter. I did not know of his plan to sell a dragon egg to Calormen. I knew one had been found," he adds. "Three moons ago, an egg was found in a lake on Felimath. A shepherd brought it to the governor, having no idea what it was. I know that the governor tried various means of hatching it, including setting it in a lit brazier, chipping at it with a chisel and hammer, and drowning it in wine. Nothing worked. I thought he had simply given up. But I suppose that since he couldn't hatch it, he thought he would sell it to the Tisroc for as much as he could bargain for. It is likely he didn't tell the Tisroc that he failed to hatch it himself."

"How could you not let us _know_?" Susan says. "Why did you say nothing?"

"Because I thought it worthless, Your Majesty," he says. 

"You didn't know that when it was first found," Jon points out. "And you knew he was trying to hatch it. You should have sent word to Cair Paravel immediately."

Lord Carey bows his head. "I realize that now, my lord," he says. "It was a grave mistake, and I beg Your Majesty's pardon for it. It's why I've come forward now, because I hope that things can be made right--because you need to know that the egg that was brought in two days ago is not the same egg that was found on Felimath. That egg was a deep copperish color, with flecks of gold. The egg taken from the ship is a much lighter golden color. I suspect, given what the Mouse overheard in Lord Hardwin's chamber about _the latest delivery_ , that the first egg is in the possession of the Tisroc."

"Thank you for coming forward with this information, Lord Carey." Susan's voice is curt, a tone Jon has never heard from her before. "In light of this knowledge, I must place you and Lady Carey under guard. You will not be imprisoned, since you came forward voluntarily, but I cannot allow you to leave the premises. You are not to make contact with Lord Hardwin or any of his councilors, nor any others of the court without my leave, and you will be called upon to testify at Lord Hardwin's trial."

"I understand, Your Majesty." He bows his head respectfully.

"Anterios, see that it is done."

The centaur bows and escorts Lord Carey from the hall. When the door closes behind them, Susan twists her fingers in the fabric of her skirts in her lap. "I am not sure what is the bigger problem now," she says. "The Tisroc having a dragon egg, or knowing there is a secession movement afoot in the islands."

"If Hardwin wants independence, then there are surely others who want it as well." What if there are _many_ others, and Peter doesn't want the islands to be independent? Jon is inclined to agree with Lord Carey's assessment that the islands are better off as a part of Narnia than as an independent kingdom. From what he can see, the Pevensies essentially leave the Lone Islands to do as they please within reason and generally don't interfere; but Jon is also aware that he's a newcomer to this world and there are a great many things he doesn't know. 

"And if there are a great many who want it, then I think Peter might be inclined to grant it to them. But I think Lord Carey is correct. We are both better off if this union remains intact. What do you think, Ghost? Does he seem truthful to you?"

Ghost thumps his tail lazily against the floor. "He does not seem to be hiding anything. He does not stink of lies the way Hardwin does." Jon isn't sure when Ghost became skilled at telling whether someone is lying or not, but he has no reason to doubt his friend. 

"At least we know the Tisroc has an egg." It's not good news, but it's better than wondering. "I don't know anything about Narnian dragons. I suppose no one does, if it's been seven hundred years since one was seen last. But in Westeros, only Targaryens could control dragons, or get them to hatch." He's not sure why that didn't occur to him to be at least a little suspicious, when Rhaegal accepted him so readily as a rider. Perhaps he'd thought the affection Daenerys had for him was enough to persuade her dragon to tolerate him; or, perhaps, he hadn't been thinking very clearly at all. "Maybe he won't have any more luck than Hardwin did."

"Or maybe he will. And now we've got this sword hanging over our heads, waiting for it to fall," she sighs. "Perhaps we've made a mistake, giving the Lone Islands so much freedom, and not interfering in their affairs. We should have had more of a presence here, so they felt more a part of us. Regardless, if it was independence they wanted, they should have asked for it directly. Hardwin should not have gone behind our backs, plotting with our enemy, selling them something of great value that could be a potential weapon against us and harm the creatures of Narnia-- _that_ is what is treason, not a mere desire for independence."

"No?" It surprises Jon. "I would have thought both would be treasonous."

"Didn't the North separate from the Seven Kingdoms?" Susan asks.

"Yes," Jon answers. "But it's… not the same. From what I've seen, Narnia--at least under you and your brothers and sister--treats the Lone Islands well. You protect them, let them manage their own affairs, and you ask a fair percentage of their profits as tribute in return. It seems reasonable to me. But it wasn't the same for the North. The Lannisters, Tyrion's family, had control of the kingdoms after Robert Baratheon died and it was them executing my father that made the North want independence." He doesn't have to say that by _my father_ he means Eddard Stark, the man who raised and protected him, and not Rhaegar Targaryen. He knows Susan understands what he means. "That's not treason, that's justice, though the Lannisters thought it treason. You haven't done anything like that to the Lone Islands, so I don't see that they have the right to ask for independence."

"But Aslan didn't give us the Lone Islands to rule," Susan says, and a line of worry creases her brow. "Only Narnia. The Lone Islands made themselves a part of Narnia. We didn't conquer them. So it stands to reason if they want to un-make themselves a part of Narnia, they could do that as well. It's in their laws," she adds. "If both parties agree. That's why they should have simply come forward and _asked_. Not done something as dangerous and foolish as conspire with Calormen. In any case, their independence isn't up to me. It's Peter's decision, as Emperor of the Lone Islands, and I will let him handle it when he arrives. In the meantime, we will gather the evidence and lay it out for all to see."

This gathering of evidence takes several days, a process Jon thinks is made even longer by the fact that Susan insists on looking at every relevant scroll or ledger entry herself, even if Jon or Jewel has looked at it first. It is also made longer by the fact that her mother's stomach has not abated, and some days it is nearly mid-morning before the sickness subsides and she is able to dress and come downstairs. But in spite of these complications, the evidence slowly comes together a piece at a time. 

The most damning pieces of evidence of the collusion with Calormen are a ship's log, detailing Glascock and Sharpe's travels to Calormen a few weeks after the time Lord Carey said an egg had been found in Felimath, with an item in the manifest with no description; and correspondence between the Tisroc and Hardwin, outlining the sum to be paid. The altered ledger entries that hide the true worth of what should be in the treasury seem to point to Hardwin's scheme for independence. Jon suspects that between the funds raised in the sale of the Felimath egg, and the amounts skimmed from the treasury, Hardwin had put together enough gold that he could hire his own sellsword army to secede from Narnia by force. Hardwin's guilt is clear, as is that of Glascock and Sharpe. Lord Carey seems to only be guilty of not coming forward with his information sooner than he did.

"Who will you put in place as Governor?" Jon asks.

"The Hardwins have been Governors of the Lone Islands for almost the entire time there have been Governors," Susan says. "And until now, they have all done the job well. I don't want to punish a child for his father's misdeeds. If Owin is inclined to be loyal, and the others agree, I'll have him take his father's place."

Jon is glad to hear that. "But he is very young. He can't be more than five or six years old." Even Lyanna Mormont and Ned Umber, young as they were, were older than that when they became the heads of their families. 

"I know. That is my only concern."

"Do you think Lady Hardwin loyal to Narnia, or to her husband?" She had wanted to accept Susan's offer to foster Owin at Cair Paravel, Jon recalls, and had seemed surprised that her husband planned to foster him with her father in Terebinthia. He thinks it unlikely that she is involved in the scheme. But he has misjudged people before.

"I would like to think she is loyal to Narnia," Susan says, "but I am not sure. And even if she is loyal, executing her husband may turn her and her son against us and I'm not sure I would be able to blame her for it. It is a terrible thing. I don't want us to do it. The thought of it turns my stomach. But we're supposed to protect Narnia, and his actions have put the Narnians at terrible risk. That can't go unpunished."

"Then speak with Lady Hardwin and see where her loyalties lie," Jon suggests. "If she's complicit in her husband's crimes, she ought to share in his punishment, but if she's innocent, and you treat her fairly, she and her boy may become even more loyal to Narnia."

Susan decides to speak to Lady Hardwin and her son in the solar she and Jon have been using since their arrival at Honeygrove, instead of the great hall. The governor's wife is brought in first, while her son waits with Jewel in the corridor. Susan takes a different tone with Lady Hardwin than she had done with Lord Carey, inviting her to sit and pouring her a cup of tea. "I need to ask you some questions about what your husband has done, Maela," she says, passing her a cup.

"Of course, Your Majesty," she says. "But I don't know what I can say. I truly didn't know any of this was happening. There must be something--a misunderstanding. If I could just speak to him…"

"I'm afraid that's not possible," Susan says gently. "There is no misunderstanding. There are witnesses who overheard his plans, and we have his letters from the Tisroc. He has already sold one dragon's egg to Calormen; the one that my husband discovered and brought to the hall was meant to be a second sale."

Maela Hardwin's face goes very white, nearly as pale as her hair; her hands tremble so much that her teacup rattles in its saucer and she has to put it down. "I didn't know there was a first egg."

"There was," says Jon. "We have a witness who will testify to it. It was found on Felimath and brought to him some months ago. Your husband tried to hatch it, and when he failed, he sold it to the Tisroc of Calormen for a hundred thousand crescents."

"But _why_? Why would he do something so--so stupid, so dangerous?" 

"We have reason to believe he was planning an armed rebellion against Narnia," Susan says.

"No! He wouldn't--but he never--" 

"Did he ever speak of secession to you? Of independence for the Lone Islands?"

"He… once or twice, he spoke of what it might be like, but I thought--Your Majesty, I thought it was just idle wondering, just daydreaming out loud. I never thought he was _serious_. If I thought he'd meant it, I would have… I don't know what I would have done. I should have told you and the High King. I should have done _something._ "

Jon thinks her distress is too deep to be feigned. Apparently, Susan is of a like mind, for she reaches out to take Lady Hardwin's hand. "Maela, I am not angry with you for not speaking of it sooner. There are conversations that a husband and wife should be able to have with each other that stay between them, and it is reasonable that this is one of them, if you had no reason to think he would act on it."

"I didn't."

"I believe you. We have evidence that your husband sold the egg to Calormen to raise funds for an army to raise against Narnia."

Lady Hardwin's eyes fill with tears, and she draws her hand away from Susan's to pull a handkerchief from the pocket of her skirt and wipe her eyes. "What will happen to him?"

"Selling the egg to Calormen is treason," Susan says, as gently as possible. "If the Tisroc is able to hatch it, then the lives of everyone in the islands and in Narnia are in terrible danger. Do you understand?"

She nods, still wiping at her eyes. "The penalty for treason is death."

"It is."

Jon has to look away then, for her reaction is so miserable that he feels he ought not look, to give her some dignity. What her husband has done isn't her fault. Jon was angry at the governor's stupidity already, but it angers him further to think that a man would be stupid enough to put his wife in a position to have to grieve him like this, to have to bear the burden of his treason. When she finally speaks again, her voice is very small. "What will happen to Owin?"

"He shouldn't be punished for what your husband has done," Susan says. "I intend that he will inherit the title of Governor of the Lone Islands, and I am sure that my brother the High King will agree."

"But he's only five," Lady Hardwin protests. "He isn't old enough to rule. Not yet."

"Then I will ask my brother to name you Lady Protector of the Lone Islands," Susan says, "to serve as his regent until he is old enough."

"I don't know anything about ruling," she says. "And I--I'm with child, Your Majesty," she adds, a flush of color coming to her cheeks at the admission. "Three moons gone now. I can't, it's too much. How can I care for the Islands and two children with no husband?"

"You will have help," Susan promises her. "My husband and I intend to remain here for some time to help settle things. We'll be on Avra, so we won't be underfoot, but we can help you any time you ask it. And I cannot speak for my brother, but I think he will agree with me that Lord Carey has had no part in your husband's schemes, and as minister of law he will know many things that will be useful to you. We will find others to serve as ministers of ships and trade. I know it will be difficult to take on this duty, Maela. You'll be grieving your husband and caring for your new child, but you are strong and smart and you will set a good example for your son to follow when he comes of age."

Jon thinks he could not love Susan more than he does in that moment. She could have chosen to deal harshly with Lady Hardwin and young Owin, to make an example of them to deter anyone from considering rising against Narnia in the future; but the compassion she's shown them instead might inspire more loyalty and love than harshness ever could. 

"I need to explain this to Owin, before the trial takes place," Lady Hardwin says. "He won't understand what's happening, he'll need time to get his mind around it. Ewan's been a good father to Owin, despite everything."

"If It would help, I could explain it to him," Susan offers.

"No, Your Majesty," she says. "I should tell him. I'm his mother. He needs to hear it from me. But… if you wanted to speak to him afterwards, to assure him that he hasn't done anything wrong…"

"Of course. We will step out of the room and let Owin come to you. When you are ready, we'll rejoin you, and I'll speak to Owin then."

Little Owin Hardwin is seated in the floor outside the door of the solar with Ghost and Jewel, playing with a pair of carved and painted wooden knights as a centaur watches over him from a few feet away. He gets to his feet when he sees Susan and Jon come out of the solar. "Your Majesty," he says, his small voice having the faintest trace of a lisp. 

"Hello, Owin." Susan lays a hand on his shoulder. "Your mother needs to speak to you. Go on in, and I will join you later."

Owin darts into the room, clutching his painted knights, and Jon pulls the door closed behind him so that he and his mother might speak alone. Susan sits on a nearby bench, her back straight, hands folded in her lap.

"I hope I'm doing the right thing," she whispers.

"You are," Jon says.

They sit in silence for a time. A pair of servants pass by, but they are otherwise undisturbed. Ghost comes to sit near Susan's feet and she gives him a gentle scratch behind the ear, but says nothing.

Some time later, Lady Hardwin opens the door. Her eyes are red, but she is not crying. "Your Majesty, my lord, would you join us now?"

In the solar, Owin sits in the middle of the couch, taking the little painted sword out of the hand of one of the knights and putting it back again, over and over. He does not look up when Jon and Susan enter, and when she sits beside him on the couch he hugs the wooden knights to his chest.

"Owin," says Lady Hardwin. "Sit up and listen to Queen Susan." But Owin hugs his wooden knights tighter and shakes his head _no_.

"It's all right, Maela," Susan says. "Owin, I'm very sorry about what's happened. I wish that things were different. Do you understand what's happened?"

He nods once, not looking at her. "Yes. Father did something bad and people might get hurt. People like Jewel and Ghost."

"Yes. That's right." 

There is a set to the boy's jaw that some might take for insolence; but Jon thinks it only that he is trying not to cry, in the way that small boys have when they do not want to be seen as small boys any longer and are trying to be very brave about it. "And he has to die for it."

"I'm afraid so." 

Owin is very quiet and still for so long that Jon wonders if he has fallen asleep. Then he says something which chills Jon to the bone. "What happens when you die?" 

Jon is so startled by the question he cannot think of anything to say, and he's only peripherally aware of Susan's answer; he can only think of the old terror, the feel of coming to life again and knowing he had been _dead_ , knowing that there was nothing there but darkness and non-existence. "Well," she says, "if one has been a good person, and has followed Aslan's teachings as best as one can, then one goes to Aslan's country, where everything is joyous and beautiful and green and nothing bad or sad can ever happen again."

"Will Father go to Aslan's country?"

Lady Hardwin makes a soft sound of distress, and cannot bring herself to say anything else. Susan says, "I don't know, Owin. I would like to think that if people have done wrong, if they repent of it, if they are truly sorry and try to do better, they might come to Aslan's country in time, but I don't think we can know what happens until we get there."

"Oh." He doesn't seem inclined to say or ask anything else; instead, he goes to his mother, his five-year-old's bravery having finally worn thin, and climbs into her lap. 

"If you would like to go back to your rooms..." Susan suggests, then her voice falters a bit and she trails off. "I will do everything I can for you and your son, Maela. I promise."

"Yes, Your Majesty." Lady Hardwin gets to her feet with Owin in her arms, making an awkward curtsy before departing. 

"That poor child," Susan says, when they are gone. "I don't know what I can do to make it better for him or his mother."

It takes Jon some long moments to find his voice again. "What you told the boy," he says, a tremor in his voice. "About Aslan's country. Why did you say that?"

"Because it's true," Susan says. "But of course you would not have heard that before, as Aslan is not known in your world. What is it that your people believe about the afterlife?"

Jon takes a deep breath, trying to steady his racing heart. "Those who follow the Seven believe there are seven heavens, and seven hells," he says. "And those who follow the old gods think that… that…"

"Jon?"

His heart races as if he's in the midst of a battle, his breath coming short and fast with a cold knot of fear in his belly that will not unravel. "I…"

"Sit down, darling, you're white as a sheet." She leads him to the couch and presses a cup into his hands. He hardly notices if it is tea or wine or water, or hears what she says then. There is only the darkness, and the fear of it, for so long he thinks it will never end. 

Then her fingers are light in his hair, his head resting against her shoulder. He sits up and swipes a hand over his eyes, trying to steady himself. 

"You came over very queer," she says gently, still stroking her fingers through his hair. "Are you all right?"

"Aye." Or as much as he will ever be. 

"Talk to me."

Jon does not know how he can explain it. Susan has seen the scars that crisscross his chest, of course, but he has never allowed her to ask about them. Whenever he thinks she might, he has always distracted her with a kiss or something else he knows will please her. She has never pressed the issue. Whether that be because she senses his discomfort, or because he's grown adept at learning the most effective ways to distract her, he doesn't know, but until now it hasn't really mattered. 

He hasn't wanted to say what happened to him at the Wall to anyone in Narnia. At first, it was because he did not know anyone here well enough for that sort of talk; then, because Edmund shared the story of Aslan's death on Edmund's behalf, and his resurrection, and Jon did not want the Narnians to think he was comparing himself to their god. 

But now he is not so sure that is wise. He once worried there were things about him that would cause Susan not to care for him if she knew, such as the truth about his parents or knowing that he killed Daenerys even though he loved her, but time and time again she has proven that it doesn't matter what he shares with her. Susan's love for him has never once faltered.

He has been wrong to doubt her every time, and he is wrong to doubt her now. 

"Did I ever tell you the vows of the Night's Watch?" he says. 

"Not the specific words of it, no," she says. "Only the bit about no wife, no lands, and no children."

" _Night gathers, and now my watch begins_ ," Jon says quietly. He knows the words well, having said and abandoned them twice. " _It shall not end until my death. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post. I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men. I pledge my life and honor to the Night's Watch, for this night and all the nights to come._ "

There is a decanter of wine on the table before them. He pours a measure into a glass and drinks it in three swallows. "The men of the Night's Watch serve for life," he says. "The only end to these vows is death."

"But…" He can see her thinking, a small crease forming between her brows as she frowns. "You left the Night's Watch when you were trying to gather the north together to fight the Night King." 

"That is what I told you, yes."

" _Jon_." Her voice is soft. "What happened to you?"

It takes him some time to tell her. When he speaks of how his death happened, Susan slips her hand into his, holding it tightly, and it gives him the strength to continue talking.

"There was nothing, Susan," he says quietly, when he's finished. "When you're dead, there's nothing. Only emptiness and… nothing."

"Are you sure?"

"Aye. There's nothing."

Susan clasps his hand in hers, drawing her thumb over the back of his hand. "I do not doubt that is what you saw, darling," she murmurs. "But I wonder if what you saw is not what death truly means."

"What?"

"What if Aslan was watching over you, even then?" she asks. "And he knew it was not your time to come to his country? For if you had been taken to Aslan's country when you died, you might not have wanted to return to Westeros, when it had treated you so poorly."

"I don't know." That emptiness had felt so _final_. Not something like what Susan describes. 

"Perhaps we're not meant to know." She squeezes his hand again, then lets go to rest her palm against his chest. "I'm sorry that happened to you. They should not have betrayed you."

Something eases in him for having told her, as it always does when he tells her something he's been holding back from her, something of the old life he's left behind. She never questions whether anything he tells her is true, no matter how complicated or extraordinary it is. But it does not ease completely. He would like to believe what she says about Aslan's country, but he is not sure she has the right of it. If he ever gets to see Aslan again, he will ask him--if he can get the nerve to do so. What if what he saw there is the truth of death, and Susan and the others who follow Aslan are mistaken about what waits for them after? To hear Aslan say there is nothing might be more than he can bear. "I don't want to speak of it again," he says. "I want to forget it, if I can." 

"I would say I understand, but I can't understand, not really," she says. "But we don't have to speak on it again, if you wish."

There is a soft tap at the window then, and Jon looks up to see the Eagle, Swiftalon, pecking at the glass. "Susan, look who's returned," he says, grateful for the opportunity to think and speak of something other than death and what happens (or does not happen) after. He rises from the couch and goes to the window to let him in. When he does, the Eagle tumbles over the sill and would have hit the floor if not for Jon, who catches him and brings him to rest on the couch where Susan sits. His feathers are in disarray as if he's flown through a storm, and he is so weak he can barely stand. 

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty," he pants, spreading his wings and ruffling his feathers so they will settle properly. "I flew as fast as I could."

"There is time for you to catch your breath, friend. Have a drink, before you give your message."

Swiftalon shakes his head. "There is no time," he says. "There is terrible news. I found Cair Paravel in a tumult, for word had just come from the west that your royal brothers and sister have gone missing."

" _Missing_?"

"It was Thorntail who brought word, Your Majesty. They were hunting the White Stag, north of the Lamp-post, when they dismounted from their horses and bade everyone wait as they followed the beast on foot. They waited there for some time, and when Their Majesties did not return, the others began to search. No trace of them was found, though they searched for days. Lord Peridan has sent out more search parties, an entire regiment sent west to look for them, but there has been no sign at all. He will send another messenger to you every day to keep you apprised of their progress. But he bids you return as soon as you can."

"Has he sent the reinforcements Susan asked for?" Jon asks. 

"Yes, my lord," says the Eagle. "They were preparing to leave when I did, though they cannot sail as fast as I can fly. It will take near on a fortnight for them to arrive, longer if the wind is against them. But they will come."

"We will do what we can to be ready to leave when they arrive," Jon says. He pours a little water in a cup for the Eagle, who dips his beak into it and drinks deeply. 

"We can't wait that long," says Susan. "We must return now, to search for them."

Jon doesn't want to contradict her in front of the Eagle, but there is no help for it at the moment. The poor bird can hardly stay upright, so they cannot ask him to leave until he has rested; and Susan must be made to see reason before she does something that cannot be undone. _If Lucy and Edmund and Peter left me, I don't think I'd know what to do with myself,_ Susan had said to him once, on their journey through Ettinsmoor. _I'd do anything to try to get them back. I can't imagine living without them._ Jon remembers her words as clearly now as if she'd said them only yesterday, and he believes she meant them. He must keep her from bolting at the news as Pyp and Grenn and Sam kept him from bolting from the Night's Watch at the news of his father's death. 

"We can't leave yet," Jon says. "The Governor must be given his trial and the Islands secured before we leave. You need the men on that ship to leave here as a garrison, to help Lady Hardwin keep order when we are gone. Otherwise they will be weak and ripe for the picking by Calormen as soon as we sail away."

"But they are _missing_ ," Susan says. "We must go and look for them."

"We cannot reach them in time to be of any use," Jon reminds her. "It is at least two weeks from here to Cair Paravel, and another week at best to cross Narnia. Let the men Peridan has sent after them do their duty while you do yours here."

"My _duty_ ," Susan says, and there is bitterness in her voice. "What good is duty when my family is in danger?"

Jon takes her hands, leaning in to meet her eyes. "Someone very wise told me once that _love is the death of duty._ And he wasn't wrong. Susan, I know you love your brothers and sister and want to go after them and find them and make sure they're safe. I've come to care for them, too. But you can't let your love for them lead you to forget your duty to the people here." He turns to the Eagle. "Say nothing of this message to anyone save those who already know, and then be cautious who hears you," he says. It would not do to have this knowledge widely known, especially before the Narnian reinforcements arrive. 

"Of course, my lord. Is there anything else I can do?"

"Just go and rest," Jon says. "We'll have great need of you in the days ahead."

"Yes, my lord." Swiftalon fluffs his feathers again, and bows to Susan. "I'm so sorry, Your Majesty. I'm praying for their safe return."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "There hasn't been a white stag in Narnia in generations," she says. "And the night Peter told me of this dream, I had the most ominous feeling, as though everything was about to change, and not in a good way. I'm afraid for what this means. Perhaps Aslan gave a warning and none of us were clever enough to realize it."

Jon has become used to Susan rising very early in the morning to be sick. He feels her stir beside him in bed before dawn, but this time she doesn't immediately bolt for the chamber pot. Instead he feels her turn one way, and then another, a restless tossing that isn't like her. 

"Susan?"

"I can't sleep. I'm sorry I woke you."

"You didn't." He turns on his side towards her, and she shifts closer. It's still dark, so he can't see her, but he feels her shift back against him and he slips his arm about her waist to ease her close, but lightly, in case she needs to get up quickly.

"I did, but it's kind of you to say otherwise." 

"Are you ill? Should I--"

"No. For now, I'm all right." She's still for a few long moments, though he can tell by the pattern of her breathing that she isn't asleep. "I was thinking of Peter."

"He will be found," he assures her. "And Edmund, and Lucy." They've received daily updates from Lord Peridan ever since they first heard of their disappearance, sometimes twice daily. A mixed force of two hundred, Centaurs and Fauns along with Talking Animals of both land, to catch the scent, and air, to scout from the skies, has been sent west in search of them. "They're out there looking for them now, and I'll go myself if they've not been found before we return."

"Will you?"

"Aye."

He feels a little catch in her breathing, in the soft rise and fall of her chest beneath his hand. "I hope you won't have to."

"As do I."

"I'd forgotten something," she continues, her voice soft. "Something Peter told me before Sansa went home. Between the Ambassador and the wedding and everything, I'd not thought on it again until now, when I'm lying here thinking when I ought to be asleep."

"What is it?"

"He told me about a dream he had. He isn't quite the type of person to have prophetic dreams, and I don't think he'd ever mentioned anything like this before, but he said he dreamt about some things he thought had to do with Narnia and the North. He thought it meant he and Sansa were destined to be together."

Jon frowns. He doesn't think dreams, prophecies, or signs are anything reliable enough to build plans upon. He'd not thought so when Melisandre claimed to see signs from the Lord of Light, and he doesn't so now. "What did he say?"

"He saw banners at Cair Paravel. Our golden lion banners, for Aslan, but halved with a wolf like the sigil of the Starks. And those banners on the walls of another castle that he thought must be Winterfell--'all grey stone and round towers,' he said, and there was a large white tree with red leaves."

"A weirwood," Jon says. "They're of the old gods, of the north. There's one in the godswood at Winterfell." He doesn't remember ever mentioning the weirwoods to Susan.

Susan shifts in his arms, turning to lie on her back. "When he told me of his dream, I thought it meant a good omen for him and Sansa--that they'd still rule their own lands in their own rights, but that Narnia and the North would be joined, too. He thought so as well. He thought it was Aslan trying to give him direction for the future. But that was before the Ambassador came, and all that happened after."

"And it didn't happen like that," Jon says.

"No, it didn't. There were other things he dreamed, but the banners and that tree--the weirwood tree, I suppose it was--were the things he talked about the most."

"Did he speak of the other things he saw?"

"A little. He spoke of two ships, one carved with a dragon, and one carved with a wolf. There were two men, one with dark hair and a crown of gold, and the other with red hair and a crown of silver, and a woman with a dragon."

Jon wonders if the ship with the wolf is meant to be Arya's--if she really meant to sail across the western seas and find what's west of Westeros, he can't imagine she wouldn't do it in a ship with the Stark sigil. "The woman with a dragon," he says. "Did Peter describe her?"

"No. I thought, at the time--when he told me of this dream, you hadn't yet told me of your parents. So I remember thinking at the time that it couldn't be to do with anyone in Westeros, for you'd said only Targaryens had dragons, and that the last Targaryen was Daenerys. I wondered perhaps it had something to do with the Lone Islands because of the dragons there long ago, and that was all the thought I gave it because at the time, I'd thought Peter was leaving Narnia and I was quite sad about it."

"Then perhaps there's nothing to this dream at all, Susan," he says. "For none of the things he saw have come to pass."

"There was something else, though," Susan says, her voice quiet. "Peter saw a black bird falling from the sky, and he saw… a white stag. And they disappeared while hunting the white stag."

"It could just be a coincidence."

"There hasn't been a white stag in Narnia in generations," she says. "And the night Peter told me of this dream, I had the most ominous feeling, as though everything was about to change, and not in a good way. I'm afraid for what this means. Perhaps Aslan gave a warning and none of us were clever enough to realize it."

A warning? _Our golden lion banners, for Aslan, but halved with a wolf like the sigil of the Starks._ What if those banners had not been a symbol of Peter and Sansa and their heirs at all… but his and Susan's? It gives him a chill, and not only because it would mean that his child would inherit the throne of Narnia--but because of _why_ his child would inherit.

Because the other rulers of Narnia are truly gone.

It isn't an idea he wants her to dwell on yet. "Susan--"

"What was it that Tormund often called you?" Her voice is tense, then, pulled tight with strain. "When he meant to tease you."

"He called me _little crow_ ," Jon answers. "Crow is what the free folk call men of the Watch. Because we wear black, and crows--"

"--are black birds."

 _A black bird, falling from the sky._ "It was only a dream," he says. 

"What if it wasn't only a dream?" Susan sits up in the bed, drawing the bedcovers into her lap. "I'm afraid of what it might mean. Peter dreamed of the white stag, and now they've disappeared chasing it. He saw a black bird, you've been called a crow--how am I not to worry that I might lose you too?"

"No." Jon sits up beside her, reaching for her hand in the dark. "I'm not a man of the Night's Watch any longer. If there's any sigil meant for me it's a white wolf, not a crow, and I'm not falling from anything. Whatever that dream meant, it wasn't that. Reaching for signs in a dream you only know of second-hand is madness, Susan. And you can't worry that your brothers and sister are gone for good. The Narnians are doing everything in their power to find them."

"What if they don't?" She holds tight to his hand, but he feels it tremble just a little. "What if they are never found?"

"Then you know what must be done." Jon doesn't want to think on it. It isn't the quiet life they talked about wanting for themselves, not in any way. But what they want is of little consequence. 

"If they're truly gone, then I'll have to… and I'm afraid I won't be good enough. It's always been four of us, with our own strengths. Peter is the military mind, the leader, and Edmund knows the laws and how to negotiate and make alliances, and Lucy is the one who inspires everyone and keeps their spirits high when times are difficult. I haven't a mind for military matters and I haven't the patience for negotiating or treaties, and I… I get discouraged far more easily than Lucy ever does, and--"

"Susan." He squeezes her hand, clasping it in both of his. "You must stop thinking about what you think you cannot do. You are just as much a ruler of Narnia as they are. You have to do what must be done, even if it's hard or you think you won't be good at it. Did I ever tell you about Maester Aemon?"

"No, I don't recall the name."

"He was the maester of the Night's Watch." And a relative of Jon's, though neither of them knew it at the time. "He was very old and very wise and he gave me a great deal of advice when I was Lord Commander. He's the one who told me _love is the death of duty_. I went to him once to ask what he thought I should do, and before I could explain it he said it didn't matter what it was, or that it would make the men hate me, but that I should do it. _Kill the boy,_ he said. _Kill the boy, and let the man be born._

"That's not exactly what I want to say to you," he goes on. "You've had fifteen years to rule Narnia with your brothers and sister and you know far more about it than I do, more than I knew about being Lord Commander back then. But what Maester Aemon meant was that I had to do what was needed to make the hard decision even if I didn't want to." Even though that decision had ultimately lead to his death. "And you must make the hard decision too. Whether Peter and Edmund and Lucy are found or not doesn't matter in this moment. You must do your duty either way. Do what is needed to keep Narnia stable until they return--and if, _if_ the unthinkable happens and they do not, then you have to show the Narnians that you have things in hand. They will need you to lead them."

Susan doesn't answer him straight away. Jon knows she's doubting herself, and from what he has seen here in the Lone Islands these last few weeks, he does not think she should. "I will help you as much as I can, if you wish it," he says gently. 

"Will you?"

"Aye, of course."

Susan leans her head against his shoulder. "I just want them to come back," she says.

"I know. So do I."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3/16/2020: Sorry for the shortness of this chapter. Like many of you, I'm stuck at home trying to practice social distancing because of coronavirus. I'm hoping to be able to update more while I'm stuck at home, but I'm also trying to move all my classes online for the foreseeable future (the fun of being an academic in 2020!). Hopefully this helps you pass the time a bit. My updates might be shorter but more frequent for a while. I hope you're all well. --Callie


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"What is honor compared to a woman's love?"_ Jon can still hear Maester Aemon's voice as if it was only yesterday. _"What is duty against the feel of a newborn son in your arms, or the memory of a brother's smile?"_

When the ships arrive from Narnia with the reinforcements Susan's requested, the Eagle Thorntail is with them. "Your Majesty, Ser Jon," he says, dipping his head in the customary gesture of respect of his people. "Lord Peridan sends word that the High King and King Edmund and Queen Lucy have still not been found."

"Thank you, Thorntail." Susan seems more resigned to the news than surprised.

"Your Majesty… I told Lord Peridan that I am willing to travel past the Lamp-post into Westeros, to see if there is any news of Their Majesties in that world. I know I am not the only one who is willing to do so."

"That's very brave of you," Susan says, "and a generous offer, but I am afraid I cannot allow it. The risk to any Talking Beast who travels to that world is too great."

"I agree," Jon says. "If I accompanied you, it might be different, but Narnians alone? No." They can't be certain that Tormund and the free folk they know and trust are still in the area.

"As you wish, Your Majesty. I must also tell you that our spies in Telmar report that the Telmarines are aware of our troops on the western border. Since the Telmarines do not know the real reason for their presence, they are beginning to have an idea that we plan to take action against them. Lord Peridan has let them believe it is merely a training exercise. This seems to have satisfied the Telmarines for now."

But likely not for long, Jon thinks. A force of two hundred strong _would_ look suspicious to an outside observer. When Thorntail departs, Jon turns to Susan. "Have you had much trouble from Telmar in the past?"

"No," Susan says. "We have some trade with them, but no strong alliance. No conflict, either."

"Then it might be a good idea to create an alliance with them now," Jon suggests. An idea is forming in his mind, and though he doesn't think it's his place to tell Susan what she ought to do, he does want to talk through the possibilities with her so she can choose for herself. "You said Narnia's armies aren't large enough to take on Calormen alone. Archenland already sided with you against them once and suffered losses. What if _all_ the lands in this region were united against Calormen? Narnia and the Lone Islands, Archenland, all the island nations, Telmar--even Ettinsmoor." They've proven to Lord Crotag and his sons that they're trustworthy, despite the previous conflict between Narnia and Ettinsmoor. Crotag is brother to the king of Ettinsmoor, and he might be willing to bring them around if Jon can convince him that a dragon in the hands of the Tisroc is a danger to them all.

"I don't want to start a war."

Neither does Jon. "We don't have to. We just need to make the Tisroc _think_ we will if he doesn't give us the egg."

"Why should the Telmarines and the giants be content to let us keep the eggs ourselves?" Susan asks. "If we get back the one the Tisroc has, we'll have three. I don't think they'll be happy that all that potential power is concentrated here in Narnia."

"I don't know." It's one of the flaws in his idea that still needs polishing. "Perhaps we can convince them that it's the Narnians that would be most vulnerable to a dragon gone out of control. I'll just have to tell them what little I know of dragons and hope I can make them see that we don't ever want them to hatch."

Susan looks doubtful. "I… I'll have to think on it," she says. "Let's settle things here and then we can think about what to do next."

*****

Because there is still no further word of the whereabouts of Peter, Edmund, and Lucy, it falls on Susan to hold the trial for Lord Hardwin and his accomplices. 

She says nothing of her siblings' disappearance. Jon is glad she's taken his advice in this. Instead, when she gathers the lords and ladies of the Lone Islands in the great hall at Honeygrove, she tells them that she is conducting this trial in the name of her brother, High King of Narnia and Emperor of the Lone Islands.

The trial itself does not take long. In truth, it is less of a trial than a declaration of the crimes of the guilty for all to hear--a display of all the evidence so that everyone understands the decisions Susan makes. Jewel and Ghost speak of what they overheard in Lord Hardwin's solar, and Jon speaks of the dragon's egg he and Jewel found on board Lord Glascock's ship as well as everything that had been found in the ledgers and in the men's correspondence with the Tisroc of Calormen. Then Lord Carey tells all he told Susan before of Hardwin's desire for independence for the Lone Islands. There's a murmur among the crowd at that, and Jon cannot say whether it's a murmur of agreement or of surprise. There may be others who desired independence for the islands, he thinks, and if so, how many? How many want the Islands to remain part of Narnia?

When the guilty are brought forward, they do not deny their crimes. Considering the evidence against them, it would be foolish for them to pretend they did none of it. Sharpe and Glascock have little to say; while they make no effort to defend themselves, they volunteer no further information than is already known. 

Hardwin, however, takes a different approach. He is completely forthright about what he's done and why. "I did all of it for my country," he tells Susan, in a tone as pleasant as if they were discussing nothing of any more importance than the day's weather. "There is no need for the Lone Islands to remain under the heel of the Narnian crown. Three generations of my family cared for these islands while the White Witch ruled Narnia, and when we cried out to Aslan for help? He was no where to be found. I have never seen him. None of us have ever seen him. I, for one, do not believe that such a being exists."

A louder murmur ripples through the audience at that, and Jon notes it's largely from the Narnians sent from the mainland to keep the peace, though there are a fair number of Islanders who seem shocked at Hardwin's blasphemy. "Aslan exists, whether you believe in him or not," Susan says. "He's not a _tame_ Lion, and his comings and goings are not subject to our constraints. Regardless, Aslan is not on trial here. You are, my lord. There is a procedure in the laws of the Lone Islands that allows for a peaceful secession from the Narnian crown, provided it is agreed to by the Governor and the Emperor. You have chosen to disregard these laws and conspire with the Kingdom of Calormen, which leads me to believe that it was not secession you desired, but an overthrow of Narnia itself. Therefore, in the name of my brother, Peter, High King of Narnia and Emperor of the Lone Islands, I find you, Lord Sharpe, and Lord Glascock guilty of treason, and remove you from your positions as Governor and Ministers of the Lone Islands, respectively." Her voice catches slightly on Peter's name, but she quickly steadies it and continues. 

"Lord Hardwin, I strip you of all lands, holdings, and titles, all honors and incomes, and confer all of the same unto your son Owin, to be passed to his children and his children's children until the end of time. I name Lady Hardwin as Lady Protector of the Lone Islands, to serve as regent until Owin comes of age. She will have full authority to govern in her son's name with the support of the Narnian crown.

"Lord Sharpe, Lord Glascock, you are also stripped of all hands, holdings, and titles, all honors and incomes, and I confer the same on your heirs, to be passed to their children and their children's children until the end of time." Susan nods to the centaur guards flanking the now-former governor. "Return them to their cells."

After the hall is cleared, Susan and Jon meet with Lady Hardwin and Lord Carey in the solar Susan has been using at Honeygrove. Lady Hardwin is clearly shaken by her husband's crimes and fate, but she seems determined to press on for the sake of her son and her unborn child, and Jon cannot help but admire her for it.

"What will happen now?" Lady Hardwin asks.

"I will take your husband, Lord Sharpe, and Lord Glascock back to Narnia when we return," Susan says. "It is… not for me to pass a death sentence, as I am not the Emperor of the Lone Islands. That falls to my brother the High King."

Lady Hardwin nods. "I see."

"My husband and I had intended to stay longer, to assist you in securing your rule as Lady Protector, but we are preparing to leave for Narnia the day after tomorrow. I am with child," she says, "and I do not want to be away from home when my time comes."

"Of course not, Your Majesty."

"Lord Carey, I am reaffirming your appointment as minister of laws. You will assist Lady Hardwin in drawing up a list of trustworthy men and women to serve as minister of trade, minister of ships, and any other positions which need filling. Please have your choices ready for me this evening so that I may approve them. In addition, I would like you to create a Council of Ten to discuss the matter of independence for the Lone Islands."

"Your Majesty?" Lord Carey seems surprised.

"If the leadership of the Lone Islands believes it is in the country's best interest to remain a part of Narnia, you are welcome to do so," Susan says. "And I sincerely hope you will. We value the relationship between Narnia and the Lone Islands and want it to continue. But your own laws _do_ permit secession, if it's agreed by the Emperor and the Governor--or, in this case, the Lady Protector. If after research and study, you agree that secession is what's best for the Islands, I will encourage my brother the High King to accept your decision. But it must be done according to your custom, and everything honest and above-board. No secret deals."

"No secrecy," Lord Carey agrees. "I've said before, Your Majesty, that I think it is best for us to remain part of Narnia, but… open discussion will make the secessionists feel they are being heard, and perhaps it will make them see the sense in remaining."

"Then let's hope that your wisdom will prevail, my lord," Susan says. "You needn't decide the Council before I leave. Only those crucial appointments that I must approve on my brother's behalf. When the Council is formed, please send us regular reports of your deliberations."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Susan's expression softens a little. "My lords, I wonder if I might have a few moments to speak with Lady Hardwin alone."

*****

 _A few moments_ turns out to be far longer than that. It's a great while later when the door of Susan's solar opens and Lady Hardwin emerges, her eyes red-rimmed. Susan has a quiet word with the centaur at the door and he escorts Lady Hardwin down the corridor. 

"I've arranged for her to say good-bye to her husband," Susan says, settling on the sofa again. Her voice is weary. "I felt it wrong to deny her that."

"She ought to have the chance to say good-bye," Jon agrees. Whatever the man's crimes are, his wife seems to have had no part in them. "I'm sorry we can't stay here to help her establish her regency."

"So am I."

Jon sits beside her and takes her hand. "You handled it well today," he says. "I know it wasn't easy to pretend all is well, to say you're acting in Peter's name when you don't know where he is or when he'll return."

"Or _if._ "

"Or _if_ ," Jon agrees. He hates to think on the possibility, but they must. 

"Remember when I said we ought to stay here in the Lone Islands and raise our children here?" Susan says quietly. She takes his hand and places it on her belly; Jon thinks that he can feel the slightest hint of a swelling there, through her skirts, though it's likely just wishful thinking on his part. 

"Aye. It seems like ages ago, now."

"It does. I think we would have been happy with a quiet life here."

"I'm _still_ happy, Susan," he assures her. True, whenever he thinks about their child that happiness is mixed with a deep fear of something going wrong, but he suspects that is a fear common to all fathers, but especially for ones whose own mothers died giving birth to them.

"But… if Peter and Edmund and Lucy don't return, our lives will be very different than what we'd planned. Our _child's_ life will be very different. I know that you've no desire to rule, that you're tired of fighting, and I can't blame you one bit given what you've lived through. And now I fear I've put you in a position where you're going to have to do those things anyway."

"This is different." Jon cannot explain _why_ , exactly, it's different, but it is. Perhaps after all he has seen and done in Westeros, the challenges of Narnia seem less formidable in comparison; or, perhaps, the challenges of Narnia seem less of a burden because he takes them on in defense of his wife and child and not out of an abstract sense of duty to the realm, to millions of people he didn't know and who would likely distrust him due to his surname. The Narnians, in contrast, are generous with their trust and their gratitude. "I've chosen this life with you, and whatever shape it takes, I'm glad to have it."

"I'm glad, too." She shifts against him to lean her head against his shoulder, and he puts his arm around her to draw her close. "Do you think it's possible that they might have wandered into Westeros by mistake, as Thorntail suggested?"

"Aye. It's possible." Jon isn't sure there's a clear sense of where Westeros ends and Narnia begins, other than it's somewhere near the Lamp-post; if the Pevensies were caught up in chasing the stag, they might have wandered into the lands beyond the Wall unawares. "When we escorted Tormund back, we only stayed a few moments, but it was weeks for you. It's possible that's what's happened to them."

"I can't ask any Narnians to risk looking for them there," Susan says. 

"No, it's too dangerous for them," Jon agrees. "But if you want me to search for them…"

"I don't _want_ you to go. I want you to stay with me. But that's selfish of me," Susan admits. "I have to think of Narnia, and the best thing for Narnia is to have all her kings and queens where they belong. So when we return to Narnia, it is my duty to ask you to look for them beyond the Lamp-post."

Jon knows why there is so much reluctance in her voice. If he is to make a thorough search beyond the Lamp-post for her brothers and sister, there is a very real risk that the disparity in time will cause him to miss the birth of their child.

 _"What is honor compared to a woman's love?"_ Jon can still hear Maester Aemon's voice as if it was only yesterday. _"What is duty against the feel of a newborn son in your arms, or the memory of a brother's smile?"_


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "There's only free folk beyond the Wall now," Jon explains. "And the free folk are led by my friend Tormund. It's not dangerous for me to go there, like it might be for any of you."
> 
> "And he will not go alone," Ghost says. "I will go with him. I know the lands beyond the Wall as well as he does."
> 
> "No, Ghost. You need to stay here and protect Susan," Jon says. 
> 
> Ghost's ear flattens with what Jon knows well is annoyance, and he feels a twist in his gut as he remembers that he told Ghost he would never leave him behind again. _But this is different_ , Jon thinks, wishing Ghost would understand.

After a stop to retrieve the egg found at Tullamore, the _Splendor Hyaline_ sails back to Narnia with the former governor and his accomplices in irons below deck. The storms that plagued the end of their journey to the Lone Islands are thankfully absent this time, but there is something about the ordinary motion of the ship on the water that Susan cannot bear and she spends nearly the entire journey in their cabin, violently sick. 

Jon wonders if it is possible to die of mother's stomach, and worries.

Peridan is waiting for them on the dock at Cair Paravel, along with what looks like half the court, a crowd of Bears and Badgers and Fauns and tree-spirits and others that nearly fills the dock with little room left for them to disembark--but none of the wagging tails and pricked ears and bright eyes Jon's grown used to seeing from a Narnian crowd. It's a subdued group, their somber faces matching the mood of the grey skies and chill winter air, and a mostly silent one, until Jon helps Susan off the ship one wobbly step at a time. Winter has come to Narnia while they were away in the islands.

"Your Majesty!" Peridan exclaims, shocked by Susan's appearance. "What's happened? Were there storms? Are you ill? What's--"

Susan looks as if she will be sick if she opens her mouth, so Jon says, "The winds were kind, my lord. There's nothing wrong that being on solid ground again won't put right. I'll see to the queen. The prisoners are down below. Take them to the dungeons." He leaves Peridan and the centaurs to deal with them and sees Susan to their chambers.

"Jewel," he says, after Susan's been put to bed and he's sent the maid for some strong tea for her, "can you find out if Queen Lucy had her cordial with her when she went missing, or if it's here in the castle?"

"Of course, Ser Jon," she says, and scampers off, ignoring Susan's protests.

"I'll be fine now that I'm home," Susan insists. "It's for serious injuries, and I'm not injured, and I don't have a disease. We shouldn't waste it on me."

"Getting you better isn't a waste." He sits at the edge of their bed, taking her hand. "Your people are missing three of their kings and queens. They need to know that the queen they _do_ have is strong enough to lead them." 

What he doesn't want to say--or think--is that her people also need to know that the child she's carrying may be their future king, if the others don't return, and that _he_ is also strong. "I've never seen anyone as sick as you were on that ship," Jon says. "You didn't know it, because you were so ill, but the whole crew of that ship was worried about you. They don't know why you're so sick, they just know that you were. Now that we're back, it won't be a secret. I know you wanted to tell Peter and the others before you made an announcement, but it's some good news for them and… I expect they could use a little good news right now."

"Do you really think so?"

"Aye. I do." He smiles; he can't help but smile, always, when he thinks about their child. "A queen's baby is always good news, isn't it? But maybe it's moreso, now. I never really cared much how things looked," he admits. "I thought Sansa was stupid for worrying about things like titles and who rules what, paying attention to how things look… but maybe she wasn't all wrong. The way things look is important, sometimes. This is one of those times. They need to know you're strong, that you're going to keep them safe, and they need to know you have a plan."

"I think you're right." There's some reluctance in her voice, but it also sounds as though she's come to some sort of decision. "Jon, I want you to help me put together a council. We've never needed one...we were our own council. But I think we'd better have one."

"Aye. It would be a help to you."

"Admitting it feels like I'm giving up on Peter and Edmund and Lucy. I'm _not_ giving up on them."

"I know you're not."

"But if I'm to keep things going until they return--"

Jon nods. "Right. So… a council."

"Peridan, of course. And Tumnus and Orieus, and Jewel." Susan looks a little better now that she's lying down somewhere that isn't continually bobbing up and down all day and night. "What was it that Lord Tyrion was called? He's in service to your brother, isn't he?"

"Hand of the King," Jon says. "He was Hand to Daenerys, before that. It's a kind of… chief advisor. Someone to speak for the king or queen when they can't themselves. You ought to have a Hand, Susan. Lord Peridan would be good for that position." The man clearly had the trust of Susan's brothers, since they left him in charge while they went west, and he's proven himself dependable (in Jon's eyes, at least) during their journey to find the free folk.

"He would," Susan agrees. "But I want _you_ to be my Hand, Jon."

"Me? Why?"

"Because I trust you more than anyone in this world," she says, and squeezes his hand. "I know you don't want any part of ruling and you're tired of fighting, and I understand… and if you want to give it up when the others return then I'll agree to it. But I trust you completely. And if they don't come back…"

Jon does not want to think on that. "But I'm not even from Narnia," he reminds her.

"Neither am I, if you want to be pedantic," she says, "but Aslan brought me here and he brought you, too. And _I_ need you. You said I needed to show the Narnians I have a plan. Well, here is my plan. A council with you at the head of it as Hand of the Queen. If the others don't return before I give birth, I need to know that Narnia is in the hands of the man I trust more than anyone while I'm recovering, someone who knows about ruling and about war but also about keeping the peace and getting people who hate each other to work together for the common good." Her voice softens a little as she goes on. "And if something happens to me--"

"Don't say that."

"--if it _does_ ," she presses on, "then being my Hand puts you in the best place to look after our child."

And that is a reason Jon cannot argue with. His child isn't even born yet and he feels there is very little he would not do to keep him safe. 

It turns out that Lucy took the cordial with her, much to Jon's disappointment, but even without it Susan feels better enough the next day that she calls the first meeting of her council in the early afternoon. She's added Ghost and Swiftalon to the list of those she wants on her council, and as Jon looks around the small hall where the council has assembled he thinks perhaps it is as good a council as could be formed in such a short time--somewhat of a representation of the Men and various Beasts of Narnia. She's chosen well.

"Narnia has not had a council in the years we have ruled it," Susan says, "as with four rulers we were our own council. But I cannot do everything alone and I need advice. I ask you to serve as my council, to aid me while we search for my family and deal with the Calormene threat. In addition, I name Ser Jon as Hand of the Queen. It is not a position we have had in Narnia before, but if King Lune finds his Lord Chancellor a help to him, then I expect I will need the same. He has valuable experience that will help us deal with the problems before us."

"It's only until Their Majesties return," Jon says quickly, though even as he says it he can't help but think of the possibility that they might _not_ return. _Hand of the Queen isn't ruling,_ he tells himself. _It's only helping Susan, giving a name to what you're doing for her anyway._ But it feels like taking on a rank to which he isn't entitled, and not even the approving nods of Peridan and Tumnus and Orieus do anything to mitigate that feeling.

"A wise decision, Your Majesty," says Jewel. While Ghost is sitting on a rug near Jon's feet and Orieus is standing by the fireplace, Jewel is perched on the mantelpiece, with a tiny pink scarf round her neck against the chill. "Ser Jon has proven himself a Friend of Narnia many times over."

The first order of business for this council is to determine what to do first: intensify the search for the missing Pevensies or attempt to retrieve the dragon's egg from Calormen. Both are urgent matters, but Narnia does not have the resources to do both at once. Orieus suggests that the search take precedence. "If the Tisroc has not yet hatched the egg, how likely is he to succeed in the next few months?" he says. "When we find Their Majesties, they will be of great help in dealing with Calormen. We must find them before doing anything else."

"And if the Tisroc _does_ manage to hatch it, he could fly north and burn this castle to the ground before we could lift a finger," Peridan says. "Please do not think me unfeeling, Your Majesty, for I sorely miss your royal brothers and sister. As do we all. But I feel the threat from Calormen must take precedence over all else. The Tisroc with such a weapon in his hands is a greater danger to Narnia than having three of her thrones unoccupied."

"Even if he hatches it tomorrow, the dragon likely won't be large enough to use in that way for several years," Jon points out. "If Narnian dragons are anything like the ones in my homeland, anyway." Not that Jon has any experience with hatchlings anyway; he only knows of full-grown dragons and relatively little, at that. All he has are his few interactions with Drogon and Rhaegal, and what little information Daenerys shared with him. And none of it may be relevant to Narnian dragons, especially if they are more like Talking Beasts than ordinary ones. "So we have some time to make a plan. Consider sending spies to Calormen. Find out where he keeps the egg and what he's doing with it. As long as he hasn't hatched it, it's useless to him."

"I mislike the idea of spies," Susan says, "as the whole enterprise reeks of deceit. But the plot that brewed in the Lone Islands without our knowledge proves that we must try to keep a step ahead of those who wish to do us harm. We must keep our eyes on Calormen and know what they are doing at all times."

So it is decided that the search for the Pevensies must happen first, while spies gather information on activities in Calormen. However, there is some objection from the Narnian members of the council to Susan's plan to have Jon cross into Westeros alone to search for the missing Pevensies. "Your Majesty, I mourn the loss of the High King and King Edmund and Queen Lucy greatly," says Oreius. "But it is too dangerous for Ser Jon to go alone. You must allow Narnians to accompany him."

"There's only free folk beyond the Wall now," Jon explains. "And the free folk are led by my friend Tormund. It's not dangerous for me to go there, like it might be for any of you."

"And he will not go alone," Ghost says. "I will go with him. I know the lands beyond the Wall as well as he does."

"No, Ghost. You need to stay here and protect Susan," Jon says. 

Ghost's ear flattens with what Jon knows well is annoyance, and he feels a twist in his gut as he remembers that he told Ghost he would never leave him behind again. _But this is different_ , Jon thinks, wishing Ghost would understand. _Susan trusts me more than anyone, and I trust you to protect her more than anyone._ There is a long moment of silence that chills the room like a fog until Susan says, "Ser Jon is concerned for my safety because I am with child," and the mood of the group lifts as if the sun has come out. "The child should be born in early summer."

"Congratulations, Your Majesty," says Peridan, a sentiment echoed by the others. "That's wonderful news, a blessing from Aslan in this troubled time."

"Thank you. It is why I have been so ill, though I expect I will be feeling much better now that I am on solid ground in my own home again. But Ghost is right. He should accompany you, Jon. You should not go alone, and you and Ghost work well together."

"But I share Ser Jon's concerns for Her Majesty's safety while he is searching for Their Majesties," says Jewel. "You've all done well at keeping the news of their disappearance quiet, but it will get out soon, as will Ser Jon's absence. If I were an enemy of Narnia, I might think it an opportune time to rise against her, with the queen's husband and all her family away, and the queen in a delicate condition."

Tumnus suggests that the castle security be increased, both inside and out, with patrols in the water and in the air in addition to those on the ground. Jon agrees, though he knows Susan won't like feeling smothered. Jewel isn't wrong that his absence and that of her family makes her look vulnerable. He'd still rather have Ghost with her, but he's clearly outnumbered there and he won't argue with Susan in front of her council.

Swiftalon ruffles his feathers from his perch on the back of a chair. "My first suggestion as a member of this council is to insist that Ser Jon take some Birds with him to Westeros," he says. "We are not like ordinary birds, my lord; if you draw us a map we can learn it and keep it in our heads, and fly to anywhere in Westeros that you like. Even Winterfell, should you wish us to take a message to Queen Sansa so that she can be alert for Their Majesties as well."

"I don't think they would have made it all the way to the Wall and beyond on foot," Jon says. "If they are in the lands beyond the Wall, they can't have gone far." If they made it as far as the Wall without running into Tormund and the free folk, then Edmund, at least, knows enough about the Wall from Jon's stories to realize where they are and turn them back. 

"It can't hurt anything to make Sansa aware," Susan says. "We've had no word from her since she left."

As much as he would like to see Sansa again, he does not want to take the time necessary to travel all the way to Winterfell and back. Not when it might mean leaving Susan for a very long time. But a Bird from Narnia can make the trip swiftly. "All right," he relents. "We'll send her word. But it must be a Raven. Westeros uses ravens to send messages between the great houses, and a Raven from Narnia will attract less attention."

"We will need other Birds with us to scout beyond the Wall," Ghost says. "Eagles, Owls...any who would not look out of place in the north. They can travel further and faster than you or I can, Jon, and search the skies to see things we cannot."

"We don't know how much time will pass while I'm there," Jon objects. "Any Narnian who goes with me might be giving up more of their lives than they bargain for. We still don't fully understand why time behaves the way it does between here and Westeros."

"And that is our right, my lord," says Swiftalon. "Time will pass for you and Ghost just as it will for anyone who goes with you. If you're willing to take that risk on behalf of Their Majesties, we should be allowed to do so as well."

"Then I will ask for volunteers," Susan decides. "I will order no one to go to Westeros, but anyone who wishes to volunteer to accompany Ser Jon and Ghost may do so. Please spread the word amongst the Birds, Swiftalon."

*****

The work of this first council meeting lasts well into the evening. Mrs. Beaver sends up supper for them and they continue making their plans as they eat together. It's late when Susan calls an end to their work and bids them all get a good night's rest. Ghost is the first to leave the small hall, trotting out of the room without a word to Jon, and that makes Jon feel something he did not expect and can't describe.

"What's wrong?" Susan asks, when the others have gone from the hall and they are alone.

"Ghost is angry with me."

"Why?"

"Because I told him to stay here with you, I think," Jon says. "I promised I wouldn't send him away again, and then… I did. Or at least I tried to."

Susan takes his arm, her touch light as they walk back to their chambers. "You wanted him to protect me, and the baby. It was right for you to want that. But it was right for Ghost to say no, I think. He wants to protect _you_."

It's different now, with Ghost, Jon thinks. "Before, Ghost was like… a part of me. I don't know how to describe it. I always had a sense of him, like… up in the Wild Lands, when we fought the bear, and the bear hurt him, I could feel it. I could feel how hurt and scared he was, like the bear had hurt me, too. But now, he's his own--well, his own person, really. With his own mind about things, and I forgot that when I told him to stay with you. I should have asked him."

"You're still getting used to him having a voice," Susan says. "And he's still getting used to having it. I'm still getting used to it. I didn't ask him to be on the council right away, as I did with Tumnus and Orieus and Peridan, even Jewel. I think I must have assumed that since you were there, he would be too… and I shouldn't have assumed. I value his counsel too."

"Aye, I know you do."

Susan's maid is waiting for her in their chambers, but Susan has a quiet word with her and then the tree-spirit leaves, a little trail of purple petals in her wake as she goes. 

"You'll sort it out with Ghost, I know you will," Susan says, when the maid closes the door behind her. "I feel a little better about asking you to go, knowing he'll go with you. He loves you, you know. Perhaps even more than I do."

Then Ghost must love him a great deal, Jon thinks, for Susan's love for him has never wavered for a moment. There are times when Jon still feels he doesn't quite deserve it. "Then I'm a lucky man, to have such."

"It's me who is lucky, to have you." She steps close, resting her hands against his chest, tracing her fingertips along the laces of his tunic. "When will you leave to go west?"

"In the morning, if all is ready. The sooner I go, the sooner I'll return." He doesn't want to be away when her time comes. 

She catches her lip between her teeth for a moment, worrying it as she turns something over in her mind. "I know the chance they're in Westeros is a small one," she says quietly. "And it's an awful risk for you and all who go with you. But I have to be sure."

"Aye. You do." There's a note in her voice, a little catch he knows will lead to tears, and that's not what he wants for their last night together for a time, so he cups her face in his hands and kisses her. It's only meant to comfort her, really; she's been so ill of late their bed has been a place for little more than sleep for longer than Jon would have liked. But she curls her fingers in his tunic and sighs, a soft little sound of want that stirs his blood, and he thinks perhaps sleep can wait a while.

*****

It's still dark when Jon hears the soft sound of claws at the door. He glances at Susan, still asleep, and pulls the furs up to cover her nakedness before saying, "Come in," in a low voice. He doesn't want to wake her until it's needful.

It isn't Ghost at the door, but a page, a young Skunk, the white stripe of his face standing out in the weak predawn light that struggles through the seams of the drapes. "Pardon me, my lord," he says, bobbing his head eagerly, "but all will be ready for your departure this morning. When do you wish to leave?"

"An hour after sunrise," Jon says. 

"Very good, my lord. Shall I have your breakfast sent up now?"

"Not yet. Let Her Majesty sleep a little longer."

The young skunk bobs his head again and scampers away, closing the door behind him. Jon slips from the bed to coax some life back into the fire in the fireplace, then crawls back into bed to wait for it to warm the room. He had not expected Cair Paravel to be so chilled in winter, which was perhaps foolish of him, for the same marble floors that are delightfully cool in the heat of summer do little to keep the heat _in_ once the cold comes.

Susan sighs and pulls the furs up around them, folding them both into a little pocket of warmth. "Thank you for lighting the fire," she murmurs.

"I thought you were asleep." Jon shifts onto his back and Susan curls up close, her head against his chest.

"Not really."

"Are you going to be sick?"

"I don't think so." 

Jon is very glad to hear it. Her body is soft and warm against his, just as it was the night before, and he traces his hand along her side beneath the furs. He wonders if it's wrong for the thought of her carrying his child to stir him the way it does, and then decides he doesn't care if it is. He wants her as much now as he ever did. "Then come here," he says, gripping her hips to ease her atop him. She settles against him easily, pressing her body against him in a way that makes Jon's breath catch in his throat. 

"We've not spent a night apart since we were wed," she whispers.

"I know." He doubts it will be the last time he has to be away from her, but it's not what he wants to think on now, not like this. When she moves atop him, the furs fall away from her shoulders, and she shivers as the cool air touches her skin. "No," Jon says, when she reaches for the furs. "Let me see you." He's not gotten a chance to see her properly in some time, and he has no idea of knowing when he'll see her again. This is a memory he wants to take with him--the fullness of her breasts, the slight swelling of her belly--enough now that Jon knows it's not just his wishful thinking--the heat of her around his cock as she takes him inside her. Jon slides his hands over her skin, smoothing away the prickles left by the chill air, and this time when she shivers he knows it isn't from the cold. 

"Jon, _please_ ," she whispers, and when he slips his hand between them to touch her as he knows she likes, her soft whispers turn into a low whine of need and she presses against his hand, seeking the pleasure he's grown so adept at giving her. 

"Your Majesty?" The soft knock and mannered voice of Susan's maid from the other side of the door seem very far away and unimportant; Jon knows he ought to stop, to tell the maid _not now, come back later_ , but he can't form the words and neither can Susan, for she's found her pleasure and couldn't stop it if she tried. Nor can Jon. Another thrust and he spills in her, and Susan collapses against him just as the door opens.

"OH--pardon me--"

The door slams shut and Susan shudders with helpless laughter. "The poor girl," she says between fits of giggles. "And your face, I can't--"

"Quiet, you," he says, and pulls her to him to kiss her thoroughly. He'd meant to quiet her giggles, but they are infectious, and after a moment he gives up kissing her to laugh with her as well. It feels good to laugh, and to see her laugh, for they've had so little reason to laugh of late. Perhaps that's what he really needs to take with him--the memory of her smile and her laughter. 

Susan traces her fingers along his face, smoothing his hair away from his eyes. Her laughter has left her cheeks flushed and her eyes soft as she looks down at him. "Come back to me, Jon Snow," she murmurs. "So I can see you laugh like that again."

"I will," he promises. He doesn't promise he'll find Peter and Edmund and Lucy for her, as they both know the odds are poor, but he can promise _he'll_ come back. "If it takes a long time, don't give up on me. I'm coming back." He lets himself drink in her soft touches for a little while, then reluctantly disentangles himself from her to get out of bed. "Don't come down to the yard with me," he says as he pulls on his breeches. "Stay here in bed for a while."

"Why not?"

"Because you need to rest," he says. He lets his eyes linger on her for a moment, all her curves laid bare to him with the furs crumpled across her thighs. "And so I can remember you looking like that." She blushes, and the color creeps down her neck and chest, but she doesn't move to cover herself. "I expect you'll look different when I come back."

"I'll look like an elephant, I expect," she laughs, resting her hand on the small swell of her belly. "But if he's born while you're gone… what should we name him?"

"Or her." He sits down to pull on his boots. 

"Or her," Susan allows. "But I think it's a boy."

"You can't know that."

"No, but I think so."

"We'll see about that." He moves around the room to collect the rest of his things. "We'll pick a name when I get back," he says. "Plenty of time to think on that still."

He knows Susan dislikes drawn-out farewells, so he kisses her a final time and leaves her there in their chambers while he goes down to the yard. A crowd has gathered there--a dozen or so centaurs who will accompany them to the border, along with four Ravens, a handful of Eagles including Thorntail, and half a dozen Owls, most of whom are yawning and complaining that the trip is starting at such an unreasonably late hour when anyone with breeding knows that the best time to travel is well after sundown.

Ghost is there, too, with Jewel, and he realizes they are talking to a Horse, a Talking Horse, and one who clearly intends to go with them, given he's wearing a saddle and bridle.

"But I thought that Talking Horses were only ridden in war," Jon says, pulling on his gloves.

"You're quite right about that, my lord," says the Horse, with a little toss of his mane. "But there are times when we all must do our part, and that includes us Horses. If searching for Their Majesties isn't one of those times, then I don't know what is."

"What's your name?"

"Breehy-hinny-brinny-hoohy-hah," says the Horse, "but I expect you'll find that a mouth full, so you may call me Bree if you wish. Some people do. Have you ever ridden a Talking Horse before?"

"I have not," says Jon.

"Well, first off, those reins are just for the look of it, so you can just leave them be until we're past the Lamp-post. And then you're to just _hold_ them. I don't need to have my head pulled about like a common horse. I know what I'm about. And now I expect we had best get on with it. Do be careful when you climb up, my lord. Some men plunk themselves up in the saddle like they're a sack of potatoes, that's the fastest way for a grand Horse to end up looking like a swayback stot. Now sit up straight and keep your heels to yourself and I think we'll get on splendidly."

Ghost doesn't have anything to say to that, but Jon could swear he hears a distinctly wolfish chuckle as they ride out of the yard to head west.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm just as free as you," Bree points out. "I wasn't, before. I was stolen from my mother when I was just a little foal and sold to a Calormene lord, and I was his slave for most of my life. I had to take him where he wanted and fight in his battles and pretend I didn't have any thoughts or wishes of my own, to gallop when he said 'gallop' and trot when he said 'trot', to go here and there as he pleased no matter what I thought about it. He could whip me or use his spurs on me or decide not to feed me if he wanted. And now I'm a free Narnian and I do as I please."

Riding a Talking Horse is a little like riding a dragon, in that he doesn't really have any say in where they're going or at what speed they travel. It is _un_ like riding a dragon in that Bree keeps up a continuous commentary as they make their way west. Topics of this commentary include surprise at the level of Jon's horsemanship, suggestions for further improvement thereof, observations about Narnian winter compared to winter in Calormen, and a very long tale involving someone named Shasta (whose name is actually Cor) from Calormen (but actually from Archenland) and how they escaped Calormen together. By the end of their second day of travel, Jon has had quite enough of the incessant talking and finds himself on the edge of his temper.

It isn't actually Bree's chatter that has put him on edge, he realizes that second night, after he's swapped Bree's saddle and bridle for a blanket and set up camp for the night with the assistance of the centaurs. It's that Bree's chatter--his _presence_ \--limits his opportunity to talk to Ghost. The big white wolf has hardly spoken two words to him since they left Cair Paravel. Jon isn't good at speaking about his feelings as it is, but he can hardly say anything in front of Bree; even now, when Bree is blessedly silent as he has his supper of oats, he's still there and listening. And Jon can hardly send him away. The Horse is as concerned about Peter, Edmund, and Lucy as any other Narnian is and intent to do his part to contribute to their rescue. Jon can hardly deny him the opportunity to help.

Jon spreads his bedroll close to the fire and tries to get comfortable. Narnian winters aren't as bitterly cold as what Jon is used to, but it's cold enough to be uncomfortable. It would be less uncomfortable with Ghost by his side, but the wolf has taken up a spot on the other side of the fire, curled up with his face pointed away from Jon.

He lays there for a time, listening to the fire crackle. Bree snores, Jon has learned, as do most of the centaurs. It's rather a racket. Finally he turns on his side, looking at Ghost across the fire.

"Ghost? Are you awake?"

Ghost's ear twitches slightly, but he doesn't move, and he doesn't answer. Jon wonders if the wolf is asleep or just… ignoring him. Did Jon's suggestion that he stay at Cair Paravel hurt him that much? He can't understand why. Surely Ghost knows how much Jon loves Susan--the wolf seems fond of her himself--and why he would want Ghost to stay with her and look after her and their unborn child while Jon can't do it himself.

"I'm sorry I told you to stay behind," he says, in case the wolf is awake and just ignoring him. "I said I wouldn't leave you again, and then I tried to. But I don't trust anyone else to protect her and the babe while I'm away. Not the way I trust you." He can't tell if Ghost is listening to him or not. "It's not that I didn't want you with me. You know that, don't you?"

The wolf doesn't stir. Jon watches him for a time, searching for any sign that Ghost is awake and listening. But Ghost is as still as a stone, save for the slow rise and fall of his breathing, and eventually Jon turns away from the fire, pulling his cloak tighter about him to keep out the cold.

*****

There's an encampment on the western border, near the wood that shelters the Lamp-post, a cluster of tents topped with the red-and-gold lion banners of Narnia. It is the base of operations for the Narnians who have been searching for the missing Pevensies all through the Western Wood. A chestnut-haired female centaur seems to be in charge as Jon's party approaches, for she's barking orders in a voice that would put even Ser Alliser to shame. He recognizes her as one of the centaurs from Lucy's all-female company, the ones who helped Susan, Brienne, and Jewel rescue Edmund from the Crimson Queen.

"Ser Jon," she says, with a little bow. "Welcome. We'd had word of your coming. I'm Thellania. My men have been scouring the wood ever since Their Majesties disappeared."

"Have you found anything at all?"

"Nothing until a few days ago, my lord," she says. "Then we came upon--well, come and see." 

Jon follows her into one of the larger tents. After his eyes adjust to the dim light, he can see a camp table with a few objects upon it; the largest of these is a sword in a scabbard of red leather banded in gold, and beside it a small bottle made of diamond. He picks up the sword and unsheaths it, tilting it so that the low light picks up the engraving on the blade.

_When Aslan bares his teeth, winter meets its death._

"This is King Peter's sword," he says, and carefully sheaths it again. "And Queen Lucy's cordial."

"Yes, my lord."

"I'll take the High King's sword with me," he decides. "If I find him beyond the Wall, he'll have need of it. But have someone take that cordial back to the castle immediately." He'll worry less for the safety of Susan and the babe if she has that, at least. "Have you found anything else? Anything of King Edmund's?"

"No sign at all, my lord," she says. "But we'll keep looking."

"Could they have gone into Telmar?" He can't imagine why they would have done so. 

"There have been no reports of any such thing from Telmar," says Thellania. "And we've not picked up their scent in that direction. Every Beast with a nose has searched for them, and the scent just… stops, just after the Lamp-post. But no one dared go further."

"No, it was the right thing. None of you should go into Westeros without me." He picks up the little diamond bottle, studying it for a moment before putting it down again. Something about this is not right, he thinks. If the Pevensies were set upon and attacked, their attackers would have kept these items. Peter's sword is some of the finest steel Jon's ever seen, and even if a person didn't know how precious Lucy's cordial was, the bottle itself is clearly valuable. Peter would not needlessly discard his sword any more than Jon himself would cast aside Longclaw, nor would Lucy abandon her cordial. "Make sure you send this cordial to Queen Susan immediately."

When he comes out of the tent with Peter's sword in hand, Bree makes a soft sound of dismay. "Broo-hoo," he says, and his head droops a little. "That's the High King's sword, that is."

"Aye, it is." He fastens the scabbard securely to Bree's saddle. "I would rather not linger here overlong if we don't need to. We should press forward into the lands beyond the Wall. Can you keep going?"

The Horse gives a little toss of his mane. "Anything for Their Majesties, Ser Jon. They may yet have need of us."

He looks for Ghost, to ask him the same, but a flash of white catches his eye and he sees Ghost sniffing the ground near the Lamp-post. Jon thinks he must have found the scent and is ready to get on with things. So after a moment to be sure all of the Ravens, Eagles, and Owls are ready to leave, Jon swings up into the saddle again.

"You may pick up those reins if you like, Ser Jon." Bree's voice is more subdued now, less boastful, as they get closer to the Lamp-post. "No Horse has ever been as far west as we are about to go. A little guidance now and then would be acceptable, I think. Just think of how you'd feel with a hunk of cold steel between your teeth and don't yank or pull."

Jon feels a little less foolish with the reins in hand. Bree picks his way through the wood to the Lamp-post, drawing up beside Ghost. "Do you have the scent?" Jon asks. He thinks for a moment that Ghost might continue not-speaking to him, but after another few moments of nosing through the carpet of fallen leaves on the forest floor, the wolf looks up.

"Aye. It is faint, now, but their scent is here." This is more words in total than Ghost has said to him for a week, and Jon tries not to feel hurt that he's only speaking to him now because it's necessary.

"Then we'll follow you, Ghost."

Ghost continues ahead, a few steps at a time. He sniffs the ground, changes direction, sniffs again to catch the scent, and Bree follows close behind him. Some yards past the light of the Lamp-post, he walks in a circle for a time before stopping, his red eyes narrowed in concentration.

"The trail ends here," he says.

Jon gives Bree a little nudge with his knee, and he turns back to look toward Narnia. The way behind them is brighter than the way ahead, as if it is early evening beyond the Wall and daylight in Narnia and he's standing between them, neither in day nor night. Moreso than the last time he came this way with Tormund and the free folk, there is a strong feel of magic, a sense of _passing through_ , a thickness to the air that's distinct even if Jon can't put into words exactly how it feels. 

Aslan had mentioned, once, that this was a place where the magic between the worlds was thin. What if it is not as thin as it was before? Could the way close entirely?

Bree shudders as if he's covered in biting flies. "I don't like it," he says in a small voice.

"I know," Jon says, giving the Horse's neck a reassuring pat before dismounting. It's disconcerting enough for Jon, and he knows where he's going. For Bree, it must be truly disturbing. He keeps the reins in hand and looks up; the Birds that volunteered to come with them are circling overhead or perched in nearby branches. 

Sallowpad the Raven flutters down from a branch to perch on Bree's saddle. "There is a settlement of some kind about half a mile ahead, Ser Jon," he says. "I believe it is the free folk."

"Aye. Tormund said he had a mind to settle nearby for a time. Don't fly too far ahead, Sallowpad. Not until they've seen me or Ghost." He has no way of knowing how much time has passed since he was here last and he would rather not catch the free folk by surprise.

A few moments later, he hears a twig snap, and he freezes, giving Bree's rein a little twitch. Fortunately the Horse heard it too and doesn't scold him for the twitch of the rein. "I'm Jon Snow," he calls out. "I'm looking for Tormund Giantsbane."

Three young women step out of the trees, arrows nocked to slim weirwood bows that gleam pale in the fading light. Jon steps forward so they can see him better, holding out his hands to show he has no weapon in hand. As he does so, he recognizes them as some of the women they found in the Wild Lands of the North last year. "Welcome, Jon Snow," says one, lowering her bow. The others lower their weapons as well. "Are you alone?"

"No," he says. "Ghost is with me, and some Narnians as well."

"I am Breehy-hinny-brinny-hoohy-hah," says Bree, and the women jump back, startled; one draws her bow again, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. 

"Don't be stupid, Orla," says the woman who first spoke. "It's one of those Talking Animals. You can't shoot it."

"I should say not, m'am," says Bree. "I prefer my hide without any holes in it, thank you. You may put away your weapon. I am no danger to you."

"This is Bree," Jon says. "A Narnian Horse. And I've brought some Birds with me as well, to search for some Narnians we think might have wandered past the Lamp-post by accident." He looks up, gesturing to the Birds circling above and perched in the trees. 

"We ain't seen nobody," says Orla. "We ain't seen nobody for a year, not since that queen, your sister came through here. No crows or nobody."

"That's all right," says Jon. "They may not be here, but I have to search for them. I need to speak to Tormund."

"We'll take you to him," says the other woman. "Come with me."

Jon follows her through the wood, thinking on what she's said. They've seen no one for a year. It's difficult for Jon to judge the season in the low light, and while it's as cold as it was when he left Narnia, that means little beyond the Wall. If it's been a year since Sansa came through on her way back to Winterfell, then time is still moving faster here than it is in Narnia. Will it still move faster while he's here? He hopes not. Yet there is nothing to be done for it. They must know if Peter, Edmund, and Lucy came beyond the Lamp-post into the lands beyond the Wall.

The free folk settlement is a collection of sturdy huts and other shelters at the edges of a large clearing in the wood. He can only see what is illuminated by the scattered fires in the clearing, but what he can see is enough to convince him that the free folk are secure here. The young woman stops in front of a hut and calls out, "Tormund Giantsbane!"

After a moment, the door opens, and Tormund steps out, illuminated by the warm light of a hearth-fire spilling through the door. He catches sight of Jon and bounds off the step, nearly knocking Jon over as he catches him up in a bone-crushing hug. "Little crow," he says gruffly, and slaps Jon on the back. "Ah, it's good to see you."

It takes Jon a moment to get the wind back in his lungs. "You too, Tormund."

"What are you doing here? Did you get tired of living in your fancy castle? Have you come back to stay with us?"

"No. No, I haven't."

"And the girl?"

By _the girl_ Jon knows Tormund means Susan. "I married her," he says, and he can't help but smile as he says it. "Actually, I'm going to be a father."

"Har! Another baby crow." He slaps Jon on the back again, his laughter booming out through the settlement loud enough that others turn and look or stick their heads out of their huts to see what is happening. "Then what the hell are you doing here, boy, instead of in that fancy castle with that pretty girl and all those pretty babies she's going to give you?"

"Her brothers and sister have gone missing," Jon says. "I came to see if they found their way here by mistake."

Tormund frowns. "There's been no one," he says. "Not since your sister and the dwarf came back through. It's just been us here for something like a year now." He jerks his head toward his hut. "Come inside, and let's talk."

After seeing Bree settled in a shelter behind Tormund's hut (Sallowpad says the Birds will fend for themselves until morning), Jon follows Tormund inside. Ghost comes inside as well, but says nothing, settling near the fireplace with his snout on his paws. There's a young woman there, stirring something in a pot, and when she turns around Jon sees that she's heavily pregnant.

"You're not the only one who's going to be a father, little crow," Tormund says, slapping Jon on the shoulder again. "Ysmene's like to pop any day now."

Ysmene? Surely not the same girl from the lost free folk they found in the Wild Lands, as she cannot be more than one-and-twenty and Tormund must be something like twice her age. But Ysmene grins at Tormund and smacks him with a wooden spoon and Jon realizes yes, it is the same girl. "I'll pop _you_ if ye don't watch yer tongue," she informs Tormund, though there's no malice in it. "Welcome, Jon Snow. Sit down and have a bite of supper wi' us. There's enough to go round."

Ysmene dishes out a savory stew into wooden bowls, passing one to Jon with a hunk of brown bread, and they all sit near the fire to eat. Jon fills Tormund in on all that's happened in Narnia since Tormund and the free folk left--the business with the Calormene ambassador, the wedding, the end of Sansa and Peter's relationship, the trip to the Lone Islands, the discovery of the dragon eggs and the governor's plot, and the disappearance of Susan's brothers and sister. Ghost says nothing during this story. Jon wonders if he means to say anything at all while he's here, but decides it's Ghost's business to tell or not, so he says nothing to Tormund about the gift Aslan's given Ghost.

"Dragons," Tormund muses, using a piece of bread to wipe the last bits of stew out of his bowl. "That's dangerous."

"I know. I have to find a way to get that egg back from them. But first I have to find Susan's brothers and sister."

"What makes you think they're here?"

"Nothing, really," Jon admits. "But the Narnians have searched all of the western wood, and our spies have heard nothing that makes us think they're in any of the other lands around Narnia. It's really the only place left to look."

"And if you don't find them?"

"Then Susan will have to rule."

"And if she gives you a son, he'll be king one day. That's what you want?"

"It's not what I want, but if that's what it is…." Jon puts his bowl aside. "You saw what that place is like, Tormund. With the Animals and the… well. They're not people, but they're good and they need protecting."

"Aye, they do. Well, I'll help you look for them. That king Edmund was all right, for a kneeler. We owe him for helping us find our people."

"I brought some Birds to help with the search. Eagles and Owls and Ravens, though I'm sending one to Winterfell in the morning with a message for Sansa." He's not sure if he can explain how he felt when he crossed past the Lamp-post, but he wants to explain it in case something changes. In case the way between their lands isn't so thin anymore.

"Then we'd better get an early start tomorrow."

*****

In the morning, Jon pulls ink and parchment from his pack and sits down with Sallowpad to explain how to get to Winterfell. He also writes a short raven scroll explaining that the bird bearing the scroll should be taken directly to Sansa. He knows the maester at Winterfell reads every raven scroll and has continued Maester Luwin's old habit of keeping a copy of each one. News about the current state of Narnia is not something he wants to put in writing, and he does not want the maester to be aware that the raven is a Narnian Raven, a Talking Animal. He does not want to risk the maester deciding that such a creature should be sent to the Citadel for study.

Then he tells Sallowpad exactly what he wants him to convey to Sansa. 

"Tell her that Queen Susan's brothers and sisters are missing," he says. "It's unlikely that they made it all the way to Winterfell, but she should know just in case so that she can be aware. Tell her about the three dragon eggs found in the Lone Islands and that one of those eggs is in the possession of the Tisroc of Calormen. Tell her I plan to do everything I can to get that egg back and keep all three eggs from hatching. And tell her that Queen Susan is to have a child this summer."

"Understood, my lord. It's good that there's one good bit of news to deliver, even with all the gloom."

"Aye. It is." Though the last thing he wants Sallowpad to tell her is something he suspects is another bit of gloom. "And you should describe what it was like to come past the Lamp-post. It's different than it was when we came here last, and she should know about it. In case it means something's changing. Now, this is very important, Sallowpad. You must not speak to anyone except Sansa herself, and then only if she is alone. My sister will ensure your safety but I can't be certain about anyone else at Winterfell. Do you understand?"

"I do."

"And thank you. It's a great risk you're taking to deliver this message, and Queen Susan and I appreciate it very much."

After Sallowpad has studied the map a final time he flies off to the south with the scroll attached to his leg, as if he were an ordinary Westerosi raven. Then Jon turns his attention to the remaining Birds. He sketches out another quick map of the lands he knows of beyond the Wall, with some help from Tormund and some of the other free folk, and instructs the Ravens and Eagles to search as far and wide as they can before returning in three days. Tormund, Jon, Ghost, and Bree will search the area surrounding the Lamp-post. Everyone is to return to the settlement in three days. The Owls go off to sleep for the rest of the day, as they are best suited for searching at night.

Riding out of the settlement into the hills with Tormund gives Jon a pang of longing. As much as he loves his new life in Narnia and would not trade it and the satisfaction he's found there for anything, there is a part of him that will always belong here, in the real north. And it's a season he's not seen before in these lands, a true autumn that's turned the leafy trees red and gold and makes them look like tongues of flame against the ironwoods and the sentinel pines. It's quiet, and peaceful, and knowing that the Night King is gone for good and that the free folk are safe here makes it feel even more peaceful.

Tormund says in the time since the free folk returned from Narnia, the seasons have been a few months each instead of years. They returned in summer and set up a camp, building shelters and gathering as much food as they could, not knowing how long the summer would last or how long the winter that followed it would be. It was easier than it had ever been in years past, Tormund said. The woods and streams were filled with more game than he could ever remember seeing before. It made getting through the following winter more comfortable. 

"That winter was when she stole me," Tormund adds, laughing. "The women we found, the younger ones, wanted to know about the ways of the free folk. So I told them about the old ways, when a man would steal a woman he wanted to be his. The next night she slipped into my tent and pulled a knife on me and told me I should consider myself stolen. Har! She would have dragged me out by my cock if I wasn't twice her size."

Bree's ears twitch at that, and he shakes his head in a way that Jon knows means he's about to give an Opinion of what Tormund's just said. Jon gives the Horse a little pat to quiet him. "You seem happy enough with her," Jon says. 

"She's a good woman," Tormund says with a grin. "And let me tell you, when a woman's round with your child, she'll want you in her bed even more than she did before. Your little queen won't be able to keep your hands off you, Jon Snow. She'll want you in her day and night, you'll see. She'll drain you dry. You won't be able to keep her off your--"

"I beg your _pardon_ ," Bree interrupts in a haughty voice. His tail flicks angrily, and he chafes at the bit with a toss of his head. "I cannot listen to such a thing being said about Her Majesty. I must ask you to cease this unworthy talk at once."

Tormund laughs loud enough to cause his own, ordinary horse to shy and skitter a bit. "You kneelers and your titles," he chuckles. "You worry too much about words and _manners_ and niceties. Us free folk, we say what we want and no one cares."

"I'm just as free as you," Bree points out. "I wasn't, before. I was stolen from my mother when I was just a little foal and sold to a Calormene lord, and I was his slave for most of my life. I had to take him where he wanted and fight in his battles and pretend I didn't have any thoughts or wishes of my own, to gallop when he said 'gallop' and trot when he said 'trot', to go here and there as he pleased no matter what I thought about it. He could whip me or use his spurs on me or decide not to feed me if he wanted. And now I'm a free Narnian and I do as I please."

"Free? You're carrying Jon Snow around right now, just like my horse is carrying me," Tormund points out. 

"Because I _volunteered_ to do so," Bree says. "No one makes me do anything I don't want to do. I asked to come help search for King Peter and the others because they don't ask us to do anything they aren't willing to do themselves. I help because I _want_ to, because I'm not a selfish fool who doesn't care a fig about what happens to other people. Not because I _have_ to."

"It's different for the free folk, Bree," Jon explains. He can still remember Ygritte saying _you think you're better than us because you put up a wall and said it was yours! We've been here the whole time!_ "Imagine if someone built a wall across Narnia at Beaversdam and said that anyone from there to the Lamp-post was the enemy, then tried to kill you if you crossed over."

"That's foolish talk, pardon me for saying so."

"But that's a little like what happened in Westeros. The Wall cut the free folk off from the rest of Westeros and it made us see each other as enemies for hundreds of years."

Bree snorts, a very horsey sound of skepticism. "I am aware that there are different cultures and customs in different countries, Ser Jon. I lived in Calormen most of my life. I do think the free folk on the whole are rather more civilized than the Calormenes, but I can't abide crude language and such things being said about Her Majesty." 

Tormund laughs again. "It's all right, little horse," he says. "I don't think _Ser_ Jon here can abide it either. Ser Jon! Are you a knight, now?"

When Jon doesn't immediately reply, Bree takes it upon himself to fill in the details. "Knighted by Aslan himself, for defeating the Calormene Ambassador in single combat to defend the honor of Jewel the Mouse."

"He's little, but he's strong. The man must have been a fool to fight Jon Snow."

"On that we can certainly agree," Bree says. "An utter fool indeed. There was never any doubt that Ser Jon would be victorious."

Jon shifts uncomfortably in the saddle, earning him an annoyed twitch of the ears from Bree. "It needed to be done," he says gruffly. "You think I'd let someone take Jewel off to Calormen to be punished?"

This conversation goes on for some time, with Bree describing in excruciating detail exactly what happened during that duel, and describing it as only a Horse who spent his formative years in Calormen learning to tell stories as the Calormenes do could do. They carry on talking after the sun sets and Jon declares they should make camp for the night. Bree finishes his tale of Jon's defeat of the ambassador and Tormund talks about Jon climbing on a dragon to fight the Night King. Jon tries his best to steer the conversation to something else, and when he isn't successful he gives up, spreading out his bedroll near the fire. Just because Bree and Tormund want to talk all night doesn't mean _he_ has to. 

As he has for the last several nights, Ghost stays a little ways away from Jon. He's _there_ , but he might as well be on the other side of the Wall for all the distance Jon feels between them. He wishes he had some idea of what's bothering his friend. There's no way to ask him, though. Not with Bree and Tormund around. He just has to hope that Ghost will talk to him soon.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon can't ever remember holding a baby before. He's sure he must have done once--surely he held Bran or Arya or Rickon when they were very small, if he was able to get them out of Lady Catelyn's sight for a moment, but he can't remember, not just now.

Sallowpad the Raven has just returned from Winterfell when Jon and Tormund return to the settlement. He carries a large scroll, not a small one tied to his leg as a raven scroll would normally be sent, and he gives it to Jon saying, "Her Majesty thought that you might want to see her words in her own hand, than hear them from my beak."

When Jon opens the scroll, he recognizes Sansa's writing and seal, but the words are nonsense. Sallowpad explains that Sansa's given him a cipher with which to read her message, and as he tells it to Jon, Jon translates her words. It's tedious work that takes longer than he would like, but once he has her words spelled out, he's grateful for her caution.

_Dearest Jon,_

_I am glad to hear that you and Susan and your forthcoming child are well. You'll be a good father. I said a prayer in the godswood that Susan will have an easy labor and a healthy child, and for the safety of Peter, Edmund, and Lucy. I am sorry to hear of their disappearance. We have heard nothing to suggest they are anywhere in Westeros._

_Perhaps it is best if they are not here. My pardon of you has caused discord with the Six Kingdoms. Bran does not oppose it and will not take action against the North, but Dorne and the Iron Islands are furious with me and are pushing Bran to retaliate against the North. There was talk of them rebelling against Bran when he would not act, but Robin, Edmure, and Tyrion support Bran's decision. Bronn and Gendry are having difficulty keeping their bannermen in line and want no part of a conflict. I've said nothing of Narnia to anyone save my small council. Tyrion and Brienne have told no one but Bran. The small company of men we brought with us have been sworn to secrecy under penalty of death. I fear if Narnia's existence were widely known in Westeros, you would all be in great danger; outside the North, your marriage to the queen of a foreign land would be seen as a threat, even moreso if Susan's brothers and sister are truly gone and she is the sole ruler--and your child her heir._

_I have heard nothing from Arya since she sailed away. Bran saw her once some months ago, off the coast of Sothoryos, but he has not been able to find her since. He says he will keep looking._

_Jon, please be careful. I hope, for everyone's sake, you are able to get the egg back from Calormen, but I worry for your safety._

_Your affectionate sister,_

_Sansa Stark_

Jon reads over the letter a second time, and a third. He feels there is much that Sansa did not say that is as important as what she _did_ say, and he wants to talk it through with Susan, to get her thoughts on it. "How did she seem, Sallowpad?"

"Well, my lord," says the Raven. 

"And Winterfell?"

"As I've not seen it before, I cannot truly judge," he says, "but there was a great hum of purposeful activity, as is always the case in a properly functioning castle. The people seemed… content."

Jon tucks the scroll into a pocket in his cloak. "Sansa says there's no word of Susan's family," he tells Tormund. "Some in the south don't like that Sansa pardoned me. There may be trouble for her because of it."

"Any word of your other sister?"

"No. She's still out sailing, for all anyone knows." It pains Jon to admit it, yet he isn't surprised. He suspects that the things that Arya has done and have been done to her will keep her from ever feeling at home in Westeros again. 

Much like himself.

"Then you'd better get back and tell your little queen the news." Tormund is unusually somber as he says it. "I'm sorry we couldn't find them. For kneelers, they weren't so bad."

"No, they weren't." As far as kings and queens Jon has known are concerned, Susan's family is among the best. 

The remaining Birds sent out to scout beyond the Wall return over the next few hours. They report no sign of the Pevensies as far as they could see. Jon isn't surprised, but he _is_ disappointed. He doesn't want to go back to Susan empty-handed. He wants to give her some idea what happened to her family. But clearly, wherever they have gone, it isn't here.

Jon bids Tormund and Ysmene farewell, then he and the rest of the Narnians turn back to the Lamp-post and home. That same thick, heavily magical feeling he experienced a few days ago hangs over the crossing between their worlds, but it's somehow even heavier and more oppressive than before. Bree balks a bit at it, and Jon feels as if every hair on his body is standing on end. When he glances at Ghost nearby, the wolf's fur is bristled and his lip is pulled back in a silent snarl. Even the Birds in their party seem to have something like difficulty flying. Though none complain, he notices them stopping here and there to settle on a branch and look about, as if navigating this heavy air takes a great effort.

The sunlight on the other side is almost too bright. The warm sun and the chittering sounds of birds and insects in Narnia proper is such a sharp contrast that Jon gets caught up in it for a moment before realizing that the sun is so bright and warm because it's _summer_. 

How much time has passed while he was away? What has he _missed_?

The Narnian encampment at the western border is still there, though it has expanded in the time he's been away. A pair of centaurs come out to meet him when they see Jon and his group emerge from past the Lamp-post. "Ser Jon!" one calls, and as they draw closer Jon sees one is the captain, Thellania.

"Is there word from Queen Susan?" Jon asks. "How long was I gone?"

"A little over five moons, my lord. Last we heard, she is well," says Thellania. "She has not yet given birth. Their Majesties?"

Jon breathes a sigh of relief that he isn't too late--at least, not yet. "They aren't in Westeros. I'm sorry."

The centuars do not seem surprised by this news, only saddened. "There has been no sighting of them in Narnia, either."

Bree's head droops as low as Jon has ever seen it, and he makes a little sound of dismay. Some of the Owls perched nearby hoot mournfully, too sad to even complain about being awake in the middle of the day, and all of the Birds look quite down in the feathers. It's so disheartening to see their disappointment. The Pevensies are clearly loved by the Narnians. And rightly so, Jon thinks.

"We will continue the search," Jon promises. "I'll go to Telmar, to Ettinsmoor, to wherever it takes to find them. I'm not giving up on them yet, do you understand? But right now, I need to be with my wife." _And our child, when he comes._

Bree picks up his head and gives it a little toss. "As you say, my lord. I've not given up on Their Majesties either. But we must get you home as soon as possible and the best thing to do's get on with it straight away, I say."

Jon sends Thorntail ahead to let Susan know that he's returned. Then the rest of their party gets underway. Despite having traveled the better part of a day beyond the Lamp-post already, Bree is insistent that he can go for as long as Jon can keep himself in the saddle, and they make a good start back before Jon calls a halt late in the evening. Making camp is easier in the mild summer weather than it was in the cold of his previous journey (which, to Jon, was only a handful of days ago). He makes sure Bree is fed before sitting down to his own hasty supper with their centaur escort; Ghost runs off on his own, presumably to hunt. It isn't until Jon has almost settled to sleep that the wolf comes back, settling on the opposite side of the fire from Jon as he's done every night of this entire journey.

Jon rolls onto his back and looks up at the stars. The longer he lies there, looking into the night sky, the more an unpleasant sensation builds in his chest--something like anger, yes, but also frustration and annoyance and a heaping dose of guilt to top it off. _Why_ is Ghost behaving like this? Whatever Jon has done to hurt him, he feels he's apologized for it and then some, but Ghost is still giving him the cold shoulder, and that hurts Jon more than he'd like to admit. The fire burns low, the moon moves across the sky, and still Jon cannot sleep for this awful feeling in his chest.

Finally he throws off his bedroll and gets up, moving to sit beside Ghost on the other side of the fire. "If you've got something to say to me, Ghost, I wish you'd just say it," he says, trying to temper his annoyance behind a voice meant not to wake the rest of their party.

Ghost doesn't acknowledge him in any way. His eyes are still closed and his snout rests on his forepaws, but Jon somehow knows he isn't asleep and that he's purposefully ignoring him. _Why_? 

"I know you're angry that I tried to send you away again. I know I was wrong for that and I said I was sorry. I don't know what you want me to _do_..."

There is still no reply from the wolf. 

Jon feels if he sits there any longer, if he says anything else he'll say something he deeply regrets, so he gets up in a huff and returns to his bedroll. If Ghost insists on holding a grudge against Jon for an offense Jon doesn't even know he's committed, then Jon isn't going to beg him to talk.

That night Jon gets little sleep, as he does the next night and the next, for Ghost continues to be aloof and silent to Jon, as if he's not even there. Occasionally he speaks to Bree or Sallowpad or one of the centaurs, but Jon might as well be a rock or a stone or a blade of grass as far as Ghost is concerned. On the fourth morning, as they are preparing to depart, the Eagle Thorntail, whom Jon had sent ahead to let Susan know he was on his way back, returns in an excited flutter of feathers. 

"My lord! I've news from Her Majesty!"

"Is she--"

"The midwife says the child is on his way, my lord." Thorntail is quivering with excitement such that he seems more like a hummingbird than an eagle. "Queen Susan bids you hurry, if you can."

There is a great eruption of excitement then, as everyone in the group begins chattering and bustling about at once, preparing for a hasty departure. "Get that saddle on me right away, if you please, my lord," Bree says. "I can get you there in a day and a half, if we ride very hard. We might just make it."

"I can't ask you to--" Jon protests, but Bree snorts and stamps his foot.

"You're not asking," he says, cutting Jon off. "I'm offering. I'd be a wretched Horse indeed if I didn't try my best to get you there in time for your own foal to come into the world. You just ignore those reins and let me have my head and I'll do the rest."

Jon can hardly get the saddle on him then, his hands are trembling with nerves and excitement and half a hundred other things he doesn't even know how to name. _I'm going to be a father. I'm going to be a father!_ He can hardly get his mind around it. Finally Bree stamps impatiently and calls for a centaur to come over and check the girth is fastened properly so the saddle doesn't come apart to topple Jon off into the turf once they get going.

"Where is Ghost?" Jon asks, looking about, but the wolf is nowhere nearby. "Ghost?" Leaving without him is unthinkable.

"I've not seen him since Thorntail arrived," says Sallowpad. 

"Ghost!" The centaurs and owls and eagles all burst from their campsite, spreading out over land and air to catch any sign of the wolf; Jon himself is frozen with indecision, torn between the need to find his friend and the need to hurry to be with his wife and child. Leaving Ghost behind is unthinkable, but staying here when he knows Susan needs him… what kind of a choice is that? It is not even a choice between love and duty, but love and love, for Ghost is his closest friend, and Susan is dearest in his heart. Jon loves them both. He stands there, unable to act, as Sallowpad makes a high, wide circle in the sky above, then swoops down to perch on Bree's saddle.

"You must go, Ser Jon," says Sallowpad. "Queen Susan needs you. We'll find Ghost and see him home."

There is nothing to be done for it but to swing into the saddle and let Bree have his head. He has never ridden a horse that runs as fast as Bree runs then; he's half-terrified that Bree will put a foot wrong and snap his leg and that be the end of him and possibly Jon as well, but there has never been a Horse in the whole of Narnian history before or since that was as sure footed and swift as Breehy-hinny-brinny-hoohy-hah was that day. 

Nor that night. 

Bree abandons all attempts at conversation and puts everything he has into a gallop. Jon did not know it was possible for a horse, Talking or otherwise, to keep such a pace for so long, yet as the sun goes down and the stars come out, Bree never wavers. Jon forces him to stop after dark for a short rest, and Bree only does so with great reluctance. 

"You mustn't stop me again, Ser Jon," the Horse says as Jon settles in the saddle to continue on. "The rest will feel too good, and I will not want to start again. You must give me my head until we get to Cair Paravel." This time Bree's speed is not quite so fast, his gallop rougher than before. Jon feels he has no right to complain. He can feel Bree is giving everything he has and then some. All Jon can do is shut his mouth and try not to make this more difficult for Bree than it already is.

Despite his assurance that he will take Jon all the way home, Bree's speed slows considerably just before dawn. He stubbornly ignores every tug Jon gives the reins; it seems Jon has no choice but to hold on and let the horse do as he wishes. (That, at least, is very much like riding a dragon.)

Eventually, Bree slows to a walk, breathing hard. After a great deal of arguing, Jon is able to convince him to stop.

"I've failed you, my lord," Bree gasps, struggling for breath. He is lathered and blown, and favoring his right foreleg. "And I've failed Queen Susan. Her Majesty shouldn't be alone in this time. Please forgive me."

Jon pulls off Bree's saddle and bridle, feeling a stab of guilt that he hadn't ordered the Horse to be more careful. He took advantage of Bree's generosity and love for Narnia for his own benefit. "There's nothing to forgive," Jon assures him, stroking the horse's neck. "Yes, you offered, but I had no right to agree to it. It was too dangerous. And Susan's not alone. She has Jewel and the maids and midwives." And the healing cordial. 

"But not her husband."

"There was no guarantee we would get back before the child was born anyway," Jon says. "If we'd spent another hour or two in Westeros, it could have added weeks to the time here. There was no way to know. It isn't your fault."

Bree hasn't the breath to argue with him anymore. Jon falls silent as well, and waits.

The morning sun breaks over the hills, slowly warming the countryside, bathing it in a soft golden glow that melts away the lingering dark. Off in the distance Jon sees another horse coming toward them. As it gets closer, Jon sees the horse is riderless. Bree's ears prick up at the sound of hoofbeats.

"Why, that's Hwin!" he says.

"Who?"

"My dearest friend. She and I brought Princess Aravis and Prince Cor out of Calormen to Archenland together. A harder-working Horse you will never find if you search the world three times over."

Hwin turns out to be a little smaller than Bree, but sturdily built and, to all appearances, quite sensible, if a little shy. "I've come to fetch you, Ser Jon," she says, "if you'll put that saddle on me straight away."

"How did you know?" Bree asks.

"When I heard Thorntail had been sent to tell you of Queen Susan's confinement, I knew you'd do something brave and foolish like try to bring Ser Jon straight home as fast as you could in one go. You've got him most of the way there. I'll take him from here." Hwin bumps her velvety nose against Bree's, giving him a little nudge of encouragement. "Rest a while, dear Bree--a party will catch up to you soon to look at that leg and help you home." 

Jon is touched by the efforts of the Horses to get him home to Susan so quickly. "Thank you, Bree," he says, giving him a final scratch between the ears. Bree allows it for a moment, then gives Jon a solid nudge with his head. "On with you now, my lord," he says. "You can't miss this."

Hwin doesn't start off with quite the blistering pace Bree had attempted, but it's a steady pace and she's just as surefooted as Bree. Jon is exhausted from a day and night of riding and can barely hang on. And his worry for Ghost is almost equal to his worry for Susan, his thoughts racing faster than either horse had managed. What if something has happened to Ghost--if he has been hurt, and no one can find him? Will Jon's harsh words to him be the last memory Ghost has of him? What if Susan's labor goes poorly, as his own mother's had done, and he loses her without a chance to say goodbye? He thinks of what Susan told him about Aslan's country, and he _wants_ it to be true for her sake, but his own experience with death tells him she is mistaken; he thinks of what Bran had told him of Lyanna, and how she bled to death on her birthing bed, giving her last breaths to tell her brother to care for her child as his own.

"My lord?"

"Pardon?"

"You're holding on a bit too tightly," Hwin says hesitantly. "I'm sure you're a good rider, but--"

Jon looks down to see that in his worry and fear, he's gripped the reins tightly, pulling them so hard that Hwin can hardly move her head. He immediately loosens them. "I'm sorry." 

"It's all right. I'm sure you didn't mean to, sire." Her head freed, she's able to move more easily, and picks up her pace a bit. 

*****

It's near on noon when they pass through the gates of Cair Paravel and into the bailey. The castle is as full as usual, but not quite as bustling with energy and activity; the Narnians, human and Animal alike, seem on edge and anxious, expectantly waiting for news of the Queen and her child. Jon hardly has eyes for any of them. He thanks Hwin hastily and calls for the nearest stableboy to tend to her before bolting inside, taking the stairs two at a time. 

Before he reaches their chambers, he hears it--the piercing wail of a newborn's first cry, strong and loud and the most wonderful sound he's ever heard in his life. The guards at the door quickly move aside for him. He rushes inside and though the room is full of more people than he could ever imagine could fit in their chambers, he has only eyes for Susan, who is laughing and crying at once as she cradles their child in her arms.

"Susan?"

She looks up at him and he sees everything he's feeling reflected in her face. "You're here," she says, and holds out her hand to him. Jon goes to sit at the edge of the bed and looks at the small, squalling child-- _their_ child--and he feels his heart is like to burst.

"We have a son," she says, still half-laughing and half-crying.

 _A son._ "He's beautiful." His head is a little misshapen and puffy, his wisps of black hair stick up at strange angles, his skin is reddened with the exertion of crying, and Jon cannot tell what color his eyes are since they are firmly screwed shut as he screams, but Jon has never seen anything more perfect. "He's perfect. You're perfect." Jon kisses her brow, smoothing back her sweaty hair from her skin. "You did so well. Gods, just look at him."

"I can't believe he's here. And _you're_ here."

"I came as soon as I could."

"I know."

"Pardon me, Ser Jon," interrupts one of the women, whom Jon assumes is the midwife. "Could you take the little prince for a moment and--for just a moment, please, yes. We need to get Her Majesty a little more comfortable and it isn't a business for men. Could you step into the solar with him? For just a moment. We'll send for you when we're finished, I promise."

"Susan?"

"It's all right. Here. You can take him--just mind his head." There's a flurry of activity all around her, but Susan is careful when she passes their son to him. He's heavier than Jon expected. 

Jon can't ever remember holding a baby before. He's sure he must have done once--surely he held Bran or Arya or Rickon when they were very small, if he was able to get them out of Lady Catelyn's sight for a moment, but he can't remember, not just now. He's shuffled off into the solar with the baby and the door closed behind them and in the silence his son's screams taper off into a soft, exhausted little sniffle. 

Now that he isn't screaming, his skin loses a little of its redness, fading to a more natural color, and he can see a little of his eyes as they open. "You've got your mother's eyes," he murmurs, carefully sitting down in the nearest chair. The midwife had wrapped the baby in a blanket before giving him to Susan, and Jon loosens it a little, wanting to get a good look at him. He marvels at how _soft_ the baby's skin is, at the little creases at the pits of his arms and the bends of his elbows and the tiny circles of his wrists, at the little fingernails so tiny and thin they are nearly transparent. 

This is an entirely brand new person. A new life that never existed until this moment.

And he's Jon's. 

Jon's _son_. Perfect and unspoiled by anything ugly or terrible or hateful. Jon has only known him for five minutes and already he loves him so fiercely he thinks he will burn up with it, so fiercely that he feels there is nothing, _nothing_ in this world he would not do to keep him perfectly safe and happy.

The baby screws up his face and sneezes; then, either angered or frightened by the new sensation, he begins to wail again. Jon laughs softly and tries to tuck the blanket around him as it was before. He can't quite figure out how to do that and hold him at the same time without dropping him, so he gives up after a moment and settles for just holding him close as he cries. "It's all right," he murmurs. "Just a sneeze. Nothing to be afraid of." The baby still cries and Jon stands, still murmuring softly to him as he slowly walks about the room, his son held close against him. The baby must find the motion soothing, as his cries slowly taper off again, and his eyes droop.

"You must be tired. I expect being born is very hard work," Jon whispers. "I'm sorry I missed it. I promise I won't miss anything else."

The baby has drifted off to a sound sleep by the time one of the maids opens the door again. Jon holds his finger to his lips to warn her not to wake him. "You can come in again now, Ser Jon," she whispers, holding the door for him.

Susan sits in bed, propped against a bank of pillows. Clearly the maids and the midwife have made good on their promise to make her more comfortable, as the bed is made with fresh linens and they've dressed her in a clean shift, brushed her hair, and everything in the room has been tidied and put away. Gone too are most of the people who had been attending her earlier. Only the midwife and one maid remain, and after the midwife promises to return in a few hours to check on Susan, they both leave. 

Only their new little family remains.

Jon sits at the edge of the bed with the baby still cradled in his arms. "I would give him back to you," he whispers, "but I don't know how to do it without waking him."

"No, you should hold him a while longer," Susan murmurs. "I like seeing you with him."

They sit in silence for a time, just looking at their child. Susan reaches over to tuck the edge of the blanket back around him, fitting it between the baby's body and Jon's.

"He needs a name," Jon says. "But I don't know where to start."

"I thought… we could name him for your father. Eddard, I mean."

"He would be named after the best man I know." But Jon is not sure that the tiny boy in his arms should be called Eddard. It seems almost too weighty a name for someone so small and new.

Susan is quiet for a long moment, just watching the rise and fall of the baby's tiny chest as he breathes in his sleep. She smooths her fingers over the baby's soft black hair. "Thorntail said you didn't find them."

"No. We didn't." Jon wanted this conversation to wait until Susan felt stronger. "I'll keep looking."

"I know."

Jon can feel the idea hanging there heavily in the air between them, the idea that it might not matter how long Jon searches for them, for he may never find them. And that means this little boy's future will be very different than what his parents had envisioned for him.

"If he has to be king one day," Jon says, very carefully, as if the words are too heavy to be spoken around a brand new life, "perhaps he should have a Narnian name, and not a Northern one." 

"We don't have to name him yet," Susan says quickly. "We can think about it. Later, when I'm not so tired." She tries to laugh, but it's an effort. "I'm so tired I may come up with something quite unpronounceable that we'll all regret later."

"So am I." He hasn't been this tired in a very long time, but he suspects Susan is even more so. He does not want to think on how much effort it must have taken to bring their son into the world. Despite his tiredness, he has not yet got his fill of his son, and he thinks he could stay awake for hours yet if it means he gets to hold his child a while longer. "Get some rest, Susan. I'm here."


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Nothing will happen to him," Jon promises. "I will gather up every army from every kingdom for a hundred thousand miles, the largest army Narnia has ever seen, and we will take back that egg from the Tisroc. And he will never do anything to threaten Narnia or our family ever again."

The first several days of Jon's fatherhood are something of a blur of awakenings at all hours of the night, utter joy at simply looking at his child, and the sheer terror that he might drop him or somehow otherwise harm him by accident without meaning to. 

Their son's birth took some time and, as Jon learns in these early days, was somewhat difficult, and it's left Susan exhausted. He knows she won't consider taking the healing cordial--her reasoning being she's not in any immediate danger and it ought to be saved for dire emergencies--so he doesn't suggest it. He can't help Susan feed the child (and she won't hear of summoning a wet nurse), but he likes sitting with her when she does, if only to have another opportunity to be with them both. But what he _can_ do is take their child off her hands whenever he can so that Susan might rest. It becomes his habit in these early days to take their son whenever he fusses and walk the halls of the castle with him. The baby seems to like the motion of walking. Something about Jon's endless pacing soothes him and helps him settle. 

Susan is often resting when he brings the baby back to her, but this afternoon she isn't. Instead, she's seated on a couch in their solar, dressed in a loose blue gown and her hair softly curled. "Is he sleeping?" she asks.

"Finally," Jon replies. He's gotten better at putting his son down or giving him to Susan without waking him, but it isn't a foolproof maneuver, so when he manages to settle him in Susan's arms and he doesn't so much as stir, Jon feels quite accomplished.

"You're so good with him," she says. "He must feel very safe with you, to sleep so soundly."

"I think it's all the walking. He seems to like it. I thought you'd be resting," he adds. "Why are you up?"

"I'm tired of being tired. It's exhausting being abed all day. I thought getting dressed would make me feel like a person again."

"Did it help?"

"Yes, but just getting into a dress and coming in here has wiped me out," she says, laughing softly. She tucks the baby's blanket around him a little more securely. "Is there any news of Ghost?"

"Nothing new." Thorntail last saw Ghost near Beruna, and two days ago Jewel and a few of her friends set out to find him and convince him to come home. They've heard no word from them as yet.

"I'm sorry."

A lump rises in Jon's throat. He won't be able to speak of Ghost, he knows, so he changes the subject. "I found something when I went west," he says. 

"Lucy's cordial," Susan says. "I know. A messenger brought it back on your orders."

"And something else." He crosses to a trunk at the far end of the room, where he'd put Peter's sword when his things were brought up. Jon hadn't wanted to tell her this until later, wanting her to be stronger, but he fears there will be no good time for it no matter how long he waits. 

Susan's voice is soft. "I had wondered. When they brought me Lucy's cordial, I thought… well. Perhaps she had dropped it. It's so small, you see. She could have simply dropped it and not realized. But Peter wouldn't have…"

"I know."

"There was nothing of Edmund's?"

"Not that I saw."

The baby stirs in her arms, perhaps sensing her distress. Jon puts Peter's sword aside and goes to her, but she shifts the baby against her shoulder, stroking his little back softly, and he settles. It seems to soothe Susan as well, as much as anything can. 

"I will keep looking for them," Jon promises as he sits beside her again.

"I know you would, if I asked you to," she says. "But I think…" She rubs the baby's back again lightly as she cradles him against her shoulder while she tries to gather her words. "For now, we should focus on Calormen and the dragon's egg. I don't want to say it. It sounds like I'm giving up on them, and I'm _not_. I want them back more than anything."

"I know you do."

"But if the Tisroc hatches that egg, then all of Narnia is at risk. Including our son."

Jon understands what she means. He has often chosen poorly when it came to his siblings, choices stemming from a desperate desire to help them--deserting the Watch to support Robb when their father was executed, rushing to save Rickon on the battlefield to no avail--and he suspects Susan feels the same just now. But protecting their son, and their son's future, has become a consideration that has swiftly and immediately eclipsed everything else for both of them. "We can't let that happen."

"No." She kisses the top of the baby's head lightly, still keeping up a light _pat-pat-pat_ against his back with her palm. "Everything has been such a … I haven't known whether it was night or day, I've been so tired, so I haven't been able to tell you all that happened while you were away, and I… well, it's selfish of me, but I didn't want to spoil our first days with him. There's a ledger on the desk. Go and take a look."

Jon goes to the desk and gets the ledger, coming to sit by her again. "Peridan helped me go over the ledgers," she says as he opens it. "I'd thought, if we had to, we could just _buy_ the egg back. I know it's rightfully Narnian and we shouldn't have to pay for it back, but there is no chance he will just give it back to us when we ask. I thought with enough gold, he wouldn't be able to resist. But we don't have enough gold to make it an attractive option for him."

"No?"

"No. Not after… there was the war with Ettinsmoor, the battle in Archenland with Calormen, the shortage in the tribute from the Lone Islands--we've still not learned what the governor did with all the gold he got from the Tisroc for the egg--"

"--and the gold Peter paid to Sansa and the Night's Watch," Jon adds, looking at the sums in the ledger before him. Peter had given Sansa a generous amount meant to help her strengthen the North's position, as well as an amount to the Night's Watch meant to make Sansa's pardon of Jon more palatable. That generosity had cost Narnia more than Jon had realized at the time. 

"That's only a small part of it," Susan says quickly. "There isn't any one thing that put us in financial jeopardy. The war with Ettinsmoor was the costliest, and the loss of income from the Islands. And I've had to send more men to the Lone Islands to support Maela Hardwin. She's given birth too, and it's been a struggle for her to keep some of her husband's supporters in line, even with Lord Carey's help."

In all of this, Jon had almost forgotten about Lord Hardwin and the others, awaiting their fate in the dungeons below Cair Paravel. "You're still holding him prisoner?"

"I'd meant to wait for Peter's judgement," she says. "But…"

"You'll need to deal with him," Jon says. "The penalty for treason is death, you've said. He's put your people at enormous risk, selling this egg to Calormen. He must be punished for it."

"I know, Jon. But when I think of his wife, having just given birth and trying to manage the islands, then she learns that her husband has been executed, it seems too cruel."

It seems far more cruel to Jon to delay the man's fate, to let his wife wonder when the blow will fall, to force her to be both a wife and a widow at the same time. But there's an unsteadiness in Susan's voice that he knows well means she will not make a decision on it now, so he puts it aside for the moment. "Right," he says, closing the ledger. "We don't have the gold to do all these things at once."

"It doesn't mean we can't support the running of our household, or the kingdom. We'll need to be careful and frugal and hope there is no disaster looming, but I think we can manage to keep everyone fed and protected. But we won't be able to do that _and_ come up with enough to bribe the Tisroc to return the egg. It would have to be an enormous sum to be more attractive than the possibility of having a dragon."

"So it will come to force." Which will also be costly, in terms of gold and in terms of Narnian lives. 

"We'll need allies. A little while ago, our spies in Calormen sent word that some unusual plans were being put in place for the Autumn Feast at the temple of Tash. Tash is their god," she explains, "and the Autumn Feast is a holiday that honors him, though it isn't one of the major feasts of the year. This year, however, there are plans for a great spectacle, far more than is ever normally made of the Autumn Feast. There must be some reason he feels the need to make a great spectacle out of what is normally a rather minor feast day."

"Perhaps he thinks he's found a way to hatch it," Jon suggests. Or, more sinisterly, that he's _already_ hatched it and means to show it off then, a public display of his new weapon as a reminder of his power.

"That was my thinking. So I wrote to the King of Telmar, asking if he would consider a delegation to visit, to speak on a matter of importance to both our countries. He agreed, and I'd meant to send Lord Peridan, but then the baby came and I hadn't had a chance to--"

"I'll go," Jon says.

"But you've just come back!"

"I don't _want_ to go," Jon says. "I don't want to leave you and the baby." And he doesn't want to go anywhere without Ghost. "But you certainly can't go, and if I go, as your husband and your closest advisor, he'll see how serious it is. I can give him a first hand account of what a dragon can inflict on his kingdom, and convince him to ally with us against Calormen." 

"Should we try to get Ettinsmoor to ally with us too? I've not written to their king. They're likely to say no, given we were just at war with them last year, but they have as much much to lose if Calormen has a dragon as anyone else does."

"Send Peridan to treat with Lord Crotag," Jon suggests. "We got on with him well enough, and his sons are favorably inclined toward us. They could make a case to their uncle the king on our behalf."

"It's a risk, but I don't know how we could not at least try." Her face is pale and strained now, and Jon wonders if all of this talk has been too much for her, so soon after a difficult birth, but what help is there for it? They cannot avoid speaking of these things any longer. "I'll send word to the other kingdoms in the area. Terebinthia, Galma, the Seven Isles… they are even smaller than we are, but I think now even the smallest help we can get from an ally will be better than nothing." 

"Let your council handle it. That's why you have a council." 

Susan is quiet for a long moment. Then she says softly, "I know I'm supposed to be thinking about Narnia. That's my duty as a queen of Narnia. But ever since his birth, I can only think of him. Protecting _him_. Wanting to do right by _him_. I can't allow the Tisroc to hatch the egg, because it puts _our son_ in danger. We have to make strong alliances with all our neighbors because it protects _our son_."

"Those things also protect Narnia," Jon reminds her.

"Yes. For now, what's best for him is also what's best for Narnia. But what if I must do something to protect Narnia that puts our son in danger? I don't think I will be able to do it. There are times when I look at him, or hear his little cries, or put him to my breast, when I think I love him so much I might burn up with it." The uncertainty is gone from her voice now, replaced with a steel Jon has not heard from Susan before. "I would rather die than allow anything to happen to him."

What Susan's just described is such an accurate description of Jon's feelings that he doesn't know how to respond to her, other than to shift closer to her on the couch and slip his arms around both her and their child. _I would rather die than allow anything to happen to him_ is not a statement he would have made before this moment, but now that she's said it he realizes that he would, indeed, give up his own life rather than see any harm come to his son--even knowing what he knows about death and the nothingness that awaits them there. 

"Nothing will happen to him," Jon promises. "I will gather up every army from every kingdom for a hundred thousand miles, the largest army Narnia has ever seen, and we will take back that egg from the Tisroc. And he will never do anything to threaten Narnia or our family ever again."

*****

Three days later, Jon departs from Cair Paravel in the company of half a dozen centaurs. They've still not given their son a name. Jon wonders if it's because Susan is considering naming him for one of her brothers, but is reluctant to do so because it would be as good as admitting that they are gone for good, so he doesn't press the issue before leaving. She has taken to calling the babe _my little darling_ and the other inhabitants of the castle refer to him as _the little prince_ , though Jon takes a kind of pleasure in thinking of him simply as _my son_.

Clearly Susan has been thinking on it a great deal, as a few days after leaving Cair Paravel, Sallowpad catches up to him with a message from Susan clutched in his claws. Jon unrolls it and reads.

> _Darling,_
> 
> _I've decided on a name for our son, though you must tell me now if you disagree. You know I had thought to name him Eddard, for your father, and you suggested he might need a more Narnian name. Would you think it inappropriate if we named him Edmund? You see, it was Edmund that I was closest to, these last years of our reign together. I think you were closest to him, too, and it always felt like he was on our side in things, as though he really supported the two of us together. I miss them all dreadfully but I think it is Edmund's loss I feel most keenly, especially when I think of how I wish our son could know them._
> 
> _I still pray every day that they will return, and if we are so fortunate in that, then our son might easily go by Ned, both to honor your father and to avoid any confusion with his uncle. But if the worst happens and they do not return, then I wish to honor my brother by naming our son for him. Edmund has been known as Edmund the Just since we were crowned, and if our son must be king someday, I wish him to be just more than anything else._
> 
> _But regardless, I want you represented in his name as well. He shall have both our surnames, Pevensie and Snow. If I were not a queen I would simply take your name as a matter of course, for Susan Snow has a lovely sound to it. But I am not entirely free to do that. I can give it to our child, however, and so I shall. I feel you might protest it and say that Snow is a bastard name and not worthy of a future king of Narnia, so I must tell you I have quite made up my mind on that point and cannot be swayed (even though you are able to persuade me on a great number of other things). We have no concept of bastard names in Narnia, so Snow is simply your name, the name of the man I love, so it will be our son's name as well. If he grows to be even half as kind and brave and just as the men whose names he carries, then all who know him will be quite lucky indeed._
> 
> _I will say nothing of the name until I hear from you that you agree. Send Sallowpad back with your answer. I love you, darling--and be careful in Telmar._
> 
> _All my love,_
> 
> _Susan_

She's correct that he would argue that Snow is not a worthy name for a king, but he knows her arguments already--that it has already been the name of a king, that bastard names mean nothing in Narnia--and knows she would counter any reasoning he might have against the decision. It is not as if he could give his son the Stark name, since it isn't his to give, and he certainly won't give him the Targaryen name. 

_Snow is simply your name, the name of the man I love, so it will be our son's name as well._ What argument can he have against that? Anything he could say would sound like he is throwing her love for him back in her face, and he would never do that to her. 

"Her Majesty instructed me to take back your answer, my lord," Sallowpad reminds him. "What shall I tell her?"

Jon rolls the scroll again and puts it in the pocket of his cloak. "Tell her the name she chose is a good one."

*****

The journey to Telmar takes them to the southwestern part of Narnia and then, when they cross the border, into a rugged mountain range. These mountains are different from those in the north of Narnia that separate it from Ettinsmoor or the ones further north in the Wild Lands; those peaks were rockier and capped in snow, while this area is more densely wooded and teeming with wildlife. Past the mountains, it's a few days' easy travel through country that's green and fertile, with miles of vineyards and rows of olive trees that stretch as far as the eye can see.

They reach the capital of Telmar in just under a week. Navastela is a bustling city Jon estimates to be about half the size of Kings Landing, and the castle it surrounds is imposing, with jutting towers of dark grey stone topped with spikes. An escort of mounted men meets them at the city gates and Jon is glad for it, for the crowd is dense and he hears more than one inhospitable comment from those around them about the centaurs in Jon's company. 

He wishes more than anything he had Ghost with him on this journey. During their time in the Lone Islands, Ghost's insights into things that people could hide from Jon but not from Ghost had been invaluable, and besides that… he simply misses his friend. He's grown used to Ghost's raspy voice and blunt manner of speaking, and misses being able to talk to him.

As they approach the castle, Jon notices the banners hanging over the walls and carried by standard-bearers--a black bird on a field of bronze, its wings spread wide. It's forged into the helmets of the guards at the castle gates and carved into the crossbows they carry, and Jon thinks of the dream Susan described to him. _A black bird falling from the sky._ Is it an omen of something that will happen to Telmar? Or a warning--perhaps Peter thought the bird was falling, when it was swooping down to attack.

Or it could all be nothing. Jon puts little stock in dreams.

Jon turns his horse (an ordinary horse this time, not a Talking one) over to a waiting stableboy in the bailey. For a moment he thinks the centaurs will not be allowed to accompany him inside; the guards confer with each other for a while, and then the entire party is allowed to pass, though they are watched closely. After the comments Jon heard in the crowd outside, he's glad they are with him instead of waiting in the yard.

They are made to wait for a time outside a massive pair of doors of oak banded in blackened steel. Then the doors open to reveal the audience chamber inside, and the guard inside announces him. "Ser Jon Snow, Hand of the Queen to the Queen of Narnia."

It's a long chamber to cross. The centaurs' hooves echo on the stones as they walk; the hall itself is somewhat dark and empty, save for a low dais at the far end which, in contrast to the darkness of the rest of the room, is bright with patterned tiles in blue, yellow, and orange that cover the floor and continue for a considerable distance up the wall. Two thrones, one larger than the other, are centered on the dais, flanked by potted palms. Only one throne is occupied, however, by man who appears to be older than Jon, but only by a little, given the touch of grey in his dark hair. 

"His Grace King Tomas, of the House of Santillana," announces the page. "Third of His Name, Father of the Realm." 

"I'm Jon Snow, Your Grace," he says with a slight bow. "Thank you for seeing me."

"The letter from your queen expressed that there was an urgent matter you wished to discuss, concerning both our countries." The king has a strong accent that turns up the edges of his words, making them sound something like questions when they are not, but it is not so strong that Jon cannot understand him easily.

"Yes, Your Grace. I've come to tell you that the Tisroc of Calormen has come into possession of a dragon's egg, and we believe he intends to hatch it at the Autumn Feast."

The king does not look at all surprised by this news. "Yes, Jon Snow. Our spies in Calormen have told us the same thing."

So the Telmarines have spies in Calormen as well. If so, Jon must assume they also have spies in Narnia. "The Tisroc must not be allowed to hatch it, Your Grace. There are stories in Narnia's history of dragons who have ravaged the land. I believe that if the Tisroc is successful in hatching this egg and can raise the dragon to adulthood, his first targets will be Archenland and Narnia, but he will set his eye on Telmar next. I've come to ask for an alliance between Narnia and Telmar so that together, we might take the egg back from him and ensure it never hatches."

"And if we take this egg back from the Tisroc? What shall be done with it?"

"I would like to say we could destroy it, Your Grace. But I fear anything done to destroy it will cause it to hatch. I believe the safest course would be to lock the eggs away somewhere cool and dark and do nothing that might cause them to hatch."

"Egg _s_? There are more than one?"

 _Damn it._ He had not meant to reveal the existence of multiple eggs. Yet if the king has spies in Narnia, he may know of them already. There is little use in lying. "Yes, Your Grace. When Queen Susan and I traveled to the Lone Islands last year, we discovered there were two dragon eggs that had already been found there."

"I have heard that the egg the Tisroc has was sold to him by the Governor of the Lone Islands," the king says.

"Aye. Lord Hardwin has since been charged with treason."

"Only charged?" the king asks. "If one of my lords had done such a thing, I would have his head on a spike on the city walls within the day."

"His sentence will be carried out at the appropriate time."

"Yes, at the appropriate time. Hmm." King Tomas has a small, pointed beard, and he strokes it thoughtfully, watching Jon with interested eyes. "I suppose that you intend for Narnia to keep all of the dragon eggs?"

"I do. I know you have no reason to believe or trust me, Your Grace, but you must believe me when I say that I do not want these eggs to hatch. They are too dangerous. Even in the right person's hands, too much can go wrong."

"So. You would like me to send my armies to help you get the egg from the Tisroc. You would keep the egg. _Three_ eggs, if I have done the sums correctly. And what does Telmar get in return?"

"Narnia's gratitude and friendship," Jon says. "And the assurance that you will never have to fear a dragon attack from Calormen in the future."

"But we may have to fear a dragon attack from Narnia," the king replies. "Perhaps an attack from three dragons. What assurance can you give me that Narnia will not use the dragons against us?"

"All I can give you is my word," Jon says. 

The king laughs, and Jon has to work to control his instinctive annoyance. "You must not take offense, Ser Jon, but I do not know you. You may indeed be a man of your word, but I have no assurance of this. I am afraid without some benefit to Telmar, some assurance that Narnia will never use the dragons against us, it would be best for Telmar to stay out of the conflict entirely. I hear you are a family man, Ser Jon."

"Aye, Your Grace. Our son Edmund was just born a few weeks ago."

"Then you must understand why I cannot simply accept the word of a man I do not know who tells me that even though he wants me to help him take a dragon egg from his enemy, he plans to keep it for himself, even though he already has two, and he can give me no assurances other than his word that he will not use them against my family or my kingdom. Tell me, Ser Jon, would you agree to this, if I came to you and your wife the queen with such a plan?"

Jon only has to think about that for half a moment. "No, I would not."

"Ah, well." King Tomas rises from his throne and steps from the dais, reaching out to clap Jon on the shoulder. "I am sorry you came all this way for nothing. But even though I am sending you away empty-handed, I will not send you away with an empty stomach. Come, you must join my family for supper. Do not worry. My servants will tend to your men."

Jon follows the king through a side door and along a corridor which leads through a few turns, down a flight of steps, and out into a dazzlingly green courtyard. There are touches of the same brightly-patterned tiles from the audience chamber, but it's mostly carpeted with lush green grass and framed with a whitewashed trellis covered in grapevines that shades half the courtyard. In the shade of the trellis are low tables and couches; a little boy of perhaps two crawls between the tables and couches, laughing merrily, while a young woman holds an infant in her lap. "Ser Jon, I present my wife, the queen Catherina," says King Tomas, by way of introduction.

"Your Grace," Jon says with a little bow. "It is a pleasure to meet you."

"This is our son Sebastian, who finds the grass so amusing," the king adds, "and our daughter, Marilisa." He catches Sebastian around the middle and hauls him up from the grass, lifting him up above his head, which makes him shriek with laughter, before putting him down again. A servant appears with a flagon of red wine and pours out three glasses, offering them to the king and queen before offering the third to Jon; when he takes it he sees that there are pieces of fruit in the wine. He watches the king and queen to see if they pick the fruit out of the goblet before drinking it. They do not, so Jon does not either, even if it makes drinking somewhat awkward. 

A woman dressed in the robes of a septa comes into the courtyard to take Sebastian away. She offers to take the babe with her as well, but the queen waves her away, indicating that her daughter is asleep in her arms and shouldn't be disturbed. 

"Good night, _mama_ ," the boy says, blowing her a kiss before running off with the septa.

Jon has had a great many meals at Cair Paravel, all of them delicious. The meal he has with the king and queen of Telmar is nearly as good. They begin with pieces of fried bread dipped in an oil seasoned with garlic and salt, which Jon is not sure he would care for but finds surprisingly good; followed by several other dishes including a dish made of of rice, several types of beans, and snails, flavored with some sort of pungent yellow spice Jon has never tasted before. That, too, is surprisingly good, as is the final course, a sort of pastry pocket filled with an almond paste and fried, then dusted with sugar.

"I fear my men will have to roll me back over the mountains if I eat any more, Your Graces," Jon says, protesting when the queen offers him more pastries. "I will be too heavy to sit a horse after this delicious meal." He does accept another half a cup of the fruit wine, however, for it is delicious.

"I understand that you are a new father yourself, Ser Jon," says Queen Catherina. Princess Marilisa is still sound asleep, though her mother has placed her in a cushioned basket nearby while she eats.

"Aye, Your Grace. My wife has recently given birth to a son."

"I do not know how you were able to leave him to travel so far away," says the king. "I did not want to leave the castle for weeks after my children were born. Surely one of the other rulers of Narnia could have come instead, and allowed you to spend time with your wife and son?"

Jon feels he is about to put a foot through rotten ice. Though the king is making a show of studying the fruit at the bottom of his goblet, Jon can tell he is studying Jon's reaction to his statement. _His spies have told him of their disappearance, and he is testing me to see if I will be truthful._ "Unfortunately, the High King, King Edmund, and Queen Lucy have been missing from Narnia for some time."

"Oh no," says the queen. Jon thinks her sympathy sounds genuine, but he cannot be sure, and he wishes Ghost were here, for Ghost seems to be able to sense the subtleties that Jon cannot. "I am very sorry to hear of this misfortune. Please give my sympathies to Queen Susan for her loss."

"Thank you, Your Grace. I will. We do have high hopes for their return. I would have preferred to remain with my wife and son, but I felt given the seriousness of the situation with Calormen, it would be best to meet with you myself instead of sending another advisor." He is strongly tempted to add _I am sorry that it was for naught,_ but manages to hold his tongue. 

Perhaps the sentiment showed itself in his voice, though, for the king puts down his goblet and leans back in his chair. "Perhaps there is something you can offer Telmar in return for our assistance in this matter with Calormen," he says frankly.

"And what is that, Your Grace?"

"If the other kings and queen of Narnia do not return, your wife will be the sole ruler of Narnia--and your son will be her heir, will he not?"

"Aye, he will."

"Then I will offer you an alliance with Telmar. Not just in this matter with Calormen, but in a permanent alliance until the end of time, and allow you to keep all of the dragons eggs for yourselves.... _if_ you agree to a marriage between your son and my daughter."

Jon cannot help but laugh, whether due to the absurdity of the situation or because he's had his fill of this fruited wine he cannot say. "Pardon me, Your Grace, but Edmund and the princess Marilisa are only infants in swaddling clothes. You can't be suggesting that we--"

"Of course not, Ser Jon. We are civilized people in Telmar; we do not marry children. It is merely a betrothal, until Edmund and Marilisa come of age. My daughter will grow up to be as beautiful as her mother, and I assure you she will be raised to be obedient and chaste. She will be taught languages and history and music, all of the feminine accomplishments, and she will be everything your son could possibly want in his future wife, in a future queen of Narnia."

 _My son is a newborn,_ Jon thinks wildly, his head spinning with the absurdity of it all. _I could hardly decide on a name for him, how can I possibly choose his wife when he is so young he cannot yet even hold up his own head? How can they be so eager to give their daughter away to a family they do not know, to a man who is not even yet a man, whose character has not yet been formed?_ He looks at the queen. "And you're in agreement with this?"

"Of course, Ser Jon," she replies. "I was betrothed to Tomas before I was old enough to know what it meant, though of course when I was older I realized it was a great honor to me and to my house. My daughter is a Princess of Telmar. My son will inherit the Telmarine throne, but my daughter will have no place in his court when my husband passes and Sebastian becomes king. I would like to know that my daughter has security, a good position equal to her birth. What better position could she hope for than to be Queen of Narnia some day? I should not like her to marry into the royal house of Calormen." 

"Everyone knows what sort of people _they_ are," the king agrees.

"And if she were to go across the sea," the queen continues, "I would likely never see her again. I would rather have her in Narnia, where she is close enough to visit, where her marriage would create a beneficial alliance."

"And you think that if your daughter marries my son, we'll be less likely to use the dragons against you if they ever hatch," Jon says. "I assure you, Your Graces, we want nothing to do with dragons. When I say I don't want anyone to hatch them, that includes Narnia. You don't have to give us your daughter to keep us from turning on your country."

"As you say." The king pours himself another goblet of fruited wine. "But dragons or no dragons, I would prefer to grow old knowing that my dear daughter has the security of a good match arranged for her. I cannot think of a better place for her than as a future queen of Narnia. Think on it tonight, Jon Snow, and give me your answer in the morning. I must know whether or not to have my men ready to march on Calormen in time for the Autumn Feast."


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The king sits back in his seat, and Jon feels he is being carefully studied, watched for any deception or untruthfulness. "Surely your lion-god Aslan could put aside any attack the Tisroc wished to advance against you. I have heard much of his works on behalf of Narnia."
> 
> "Aye." Jon has no doubt that Aslan _could_ stop a dragon as easily as Jon could flick away a fly, but he does not think, from his few encounters with Aslan and from the stories told by Susan and her brothers, that Aslan cares for them to sit idly by and do nothing to help themselves when they are capable of doing so. "He could. But Aslan is not a tool to summon whenever it suits us."
> 
> "No," says the king. "That is not the way of gods."

Jon is awake all night, trying to decide how to answer the Telmarine king's offer. A betrothal between infants still in their swaddling clothes? It is absurd on its face, and Jon's instinct is to say no. He can only think of one arranged marriage that turned out well (Lord and Lady Stark) and many that did not (too many to name, not the least of which were Sansa's, or even the one his own mother was meant to make with Robert Baratheon). How could he subject his son to such an agreement? 

Yet his son may not have a chance to grow old enough to choose his own wife if Jon does not secure Telmar's aid against Calormen in the matter of the dragon's egg. Narnia does not have sufficient military strength to challenge Calormen alone. Even if Peridan is able to persuade the giants to fight on their side, and even if Archenland is willing to engage Calormen again, it will not be enough. If it were a defensive matter, then it would be different, but this is meant to be a show of strength, an offensive advance to force the Tisroc to hand over the egg to prevent war. They must have Telmar on their side. The Tisroc needs to see the entire region united against him if there is any hope of convincing him to return the egg.

And if they have Telmar on their side, it will not just be in this matter, but in an alliance that benefits Narnia for generations. It could mean an end to the constant threat Calormen represents to them and stability for the whole region.

Jon wishes he knew more about the politics of the kingdoms of this world, at least enough about the Telmarine royal family to know whether Queen Catherina's _I should not like her to marry into the royal house of Calormen_ to be a true expression of concern for her daughter's welfare or a veiled suggestion of where their alliances might shift should Jon reject King Tomas's offer. If Jon says no, they might well offer their daughter up in an alliance with Calormen to keep the Tisroc from using a dragon (if he successfully hatches it) against them. Ghost might have had some insight into their motives if he were here, as he had in the Lone Islands, but there has still been no word of when he might return. It makes Jon miss him all the more keenly.

If he could discuss this with Susan, the way ahead might be clearer. But a messenger, even one as swift as an Eagle, could not cover the distance to Cair Paravel and back again in a single night, and Tomas made it clear he expects an answer in the morning. Susan named Jon her Hand and has asked him repeatedly to help her rule since her family's disappearance. She would not have named him Hand if she did not trust him to make decisions in her absence, and Jon likes to think he understands somewhat of what her thoughts woud be in this.

If if their child were a girl, and it was a question of sending her away from Narnia to live with strangers where she might be poorly treated, Jon would not even consider it. He knows that Susan would not consider it either. But Edmund is a son, not a daughter, and they would not be sending him away in this arrangement. Princess Marilisa would come to live with them in Narnia, when the time comes, and there is no question in Jon's mind that his son will grow to be the sort of man who would respect his wife and treat her kindly even if love was not part of the agreement--for that is how Jon intends to raise him and he is certain Susan does as well. 

Jon does _not_ want Edmund to have the burden of being king. He still hopes Susan's brothers and sister will return both because he misses them, he knows Susan misses them, and because it means that this responsibility does not automatically fall to his son. But sitting by and doing nothing in the hope they will return is foolish; if Susan is to rule Narnia on her own, and their son is to be king one day, then it falls to Jon to help them both as best he can. The greatest charge of any king or queen of Narnia is to protect the Narnians from anyone who would harm them. Susan has spoken of this duty many times.

Just now, protecting the Narnians means doing whatever he needs to do to get Telmar to help with getting the dragon's egg back from Calormen.

It is these thoughts that are in Jon's mind when he meets with the Telmarine king that morning to break their fast. Jon is brought to the same courtyard in which he dined with the king and queen the night before, although this morning it is only the two men present, and not the queen or her children. Despite his insistence that Jon give him an answer in the morning, King Tomas seems content to wait until the servants have laid out their meal before addressing the subject. 

"I trust you had a comfortable night, Ser Jon?"

"Of course, Your Grace." It wasn't the room or its furnishings that kept him awake all night. He accepts a cup of coffee from a servant, and though he's surprised to find it stronger than the Narnian fashion and slightly bitter it is just as invigorating, especially after his sleepless night. 

Jon must have made a face at the bitterness, for the king laughs and passes him a small silver sugar bowl. "I have heard the Narnians prefer their coffee sweet," says the king. 

"I had not tasted coffee before I came to Narnia," Jon admits. "I didn't know it could be drunk any other way than sweetened." In truth he's developed somewhat of a taste for sweets in his time in Narnia.

"You don't have it where you're from?"

"No, Your Grace." And wishing to avoid too many questions about where, exactly, he is from and how to get there, he adds, "Nor chocolate. I'm told that these are both delicacies that Calormen is known for."

"Indeed. We have made some attempts at growing them here, and indeed both crops will grow, but the quality is less that of our neighbors to the south. But our olives and grapes are far superior to theirs, so there is a trade, you see. There was not a great deal of trade in the days when Narnia was a land of always winter, ruled by a sorceress. Our choices, if we wished to treat with Calormen, were to go through Narnia, which was always snow and ice, or through the desert to the south. And the giants were not much interested in trade. We all profit from the change in Narnia's fortune." 

Jon thinks of his time as the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, trying to keep the men fed and clothed when nothing could be grown there. _Everything_ but timber had to come from somewhere else, and at times _somewhere else_ was very far indeed. The distances in this world are much less vast than those of Westeros. He wonders if Narnia could be self-sufficient, if required. There are luxuries that would surely become scarce, but the necessities they would still have in abundance--at least, he hopes they would. Jon realizes he needs to learn more about how Narnia _works_ if he's to be any help to Susan. "I believe we would all like that trade to continue, Your Grace."

"And trade requires peace."

"We won't have peace if the Tisroc hatches a dragon." Jon puts down his cup. "I have seen first hand what a single dragon can do to an army, a city… it would not be in a year, or two, or even three. But eventually that dragon would grow large enough to ride into battle and there is little that can be done to stop it once it is fully grown."

The king sits back in his seat, and Jon feels he is being carefully studied, watched for any deception or untruthfulness. "Surely your lion-god Aslan could put aside any attack the Tisroc wished to advance against you. I have heard much of his works on behalf of Narnia."

"Aye." Jon has no doubt that Aslan _could_ stop a dragon as easily as Jon could flick away a fly, but he does not think, from his few encounters with Aslan and from the stories told by Susan and her brothers, that Aslan cares for them to sit idly by and do nothing to help themselves when they are capable of doing so. "He could. But Aslan is not a tool to summon whenever it suits us."

"No," says the king. "That is not the way of gods."

"That is why we must take this matter in our own hands," Jon says. "The whole region must stand together to show the Tisroc that we will not allow him to have a weapon he could turn against us. Queen Susan has sent word to all of the lands--Terebinthia, Galma, the Seven Isles, even the giants of Ettinsmoor--to join us against Calormen."

"I have no desire for outright war, Ser Jon."

"Nor I. If the Tisroc is content to stay within his own borders and mind his own people, he can do whatever he likes. We shall do the same in Narnia."

"But you will have three dragons eggs," says the king. "What assurance do I have that you, or your son, or your son's son, will not be tempted to hatch and use them against us in the future? For now, there is reason to think of peace. Trade is good, there is no famine or plague in any of our kingdoms. It is enough to keep all content. But one trouble--" he snaps his fingers, making a gesture as if wiping away everything before him, "--one plague or pestilence, could make even the best of men desperate to keep his people protected."

"I would never hatch a dragon, Your Grace. They are so powerful that no one should have them. Gorgeous beasts, truly, but too dangerous." There is no way to contain them; he knows that from what Daenerys told him about her ( _their_ , Jon reminds himself) ancestors. Keeping the dragons chained in the Dragonpit to protect the people from them caused them to grow smaller and smaller with each generation until they could no longer survive. "They cannot be managed. Yes, they are useful against an enemy. But once that enemy is defeated….they don't care about the difference between what's theirs and what isn't. You can't turn them loose to wander at will, because they must kill to eat to stay alive, but they aren't picky about what or who they eat. If you lock them away, it stunts them and they die out. It is better to not have them at all."

The king nods. "So you say. And I would like to believe you. But I shall explain from my perspective. I have recently received word that the second wife of Ambrash Tarkhaan, the second son of the Tisroc, has given birth to a son--his first wife has given him only daughters, you see. It is the custom in Calormen to take many wives, to produce many sons. The Tisroc's eldest son and heir remains unwed, with no heir. It seems that the crown prince suffered some humiliation in the last year which has made it difficult for him to find a wife."

 _Aslan turned him into a donkey and set him home_ , Susan had explained to Jon, when telling him the fate of her former suitor. _He could only become human again by visiting the temple of Tash in Tashbaan. If he travels ten miles from the temple, he will be turned into a donkey forever._ Jon can see how this would present a problem when arranging a marriage; what lord would want his daughter married to such a man? 

And what good would such an heir be to a man like the Tisroc, if he cannot father his own heir or lead men in battle?

"When I learned this news, I also received a proposal from the second son of the Tisroc to wed his son to my daughter, when they come of age," the king continues. "A son of a second son would not normally be a consideration for the hand of a Princess of Telmar, but in this case, if the crown prince were to die without an heir--well. The Tisroc is an older man than you or I, and though the Calormenes say he is descended from their god Tash, and wish him to 'live forever' in every other breath, no Tisroc has lived longer than any ordinary man. In time he will die, as all men must, and his son will replace him."

But not, perhaps, the _eldest_ son. Tomas has made it clear that he wants his daughter to be a queen, whether that is queen of Narnia or queen of Calormen, and though he has not said outright that he would ally with Calormen should they accept his daughter, Jon can see that is the logical conclusion. 

If he wants the support of Telmar in this, he must agree to the betrothal of Edmund and Marilisa. If Jon does not agree, the king will betroth her to the second son of the Tisroc, and an alliance between Telmar and Calormen is not one that will benefit Narnia in any way--not now, and not in the future.

Jon looks at his empty cup, and then at the king. "Perhaps you should call for some wine, Your Grace," he says, "so that we might drink to Prince Edmund and Princess Marilisa, and the future of Narnia and Telmar."

*****

Jon returns to Narnia with a copy of the agreement he and King Tomas spent the better part of the day crafting. He's eager to get back to Susan and the baby, and tells her so in the message he sends ahead. Jon doesn't include details of the agreement in his message, thinking it best to explain in person, so he only says that Telmar is with them in this and that he's on his way home.

With a fortnight's travel in each direction it means he's missing a month of his son's life--and it's a month without Ghost as well. He's eager for news of his friend. Perhaps Jewel has been able to find him and convince him to come home, and that thought, along with knowing he'll soon see Susan and their son again and they have a plan to deal with Calormen, cheers him a great deal on the journey home.

When he arrives at Cair Paravel, he turns his horse over to a waiting stableboy and goes straight up to their chambers. He finds Susan in her solar, sitting at her writing-table with Edmund in her arms--in her _arm_ , to be more precise, cradled against her shoulder while she holds a scroll in her free hand to read it--and she looks up from her reading when he comes in. "You're back," she says, and though her voice is quiet so as not to wake Edmund, her eyes are bright. 

"You look well." He isn't saying that just to be kind; she _does_ look well, with some color to her cheeks and her hair neatly braided. When he leans down to kiss her he catches a scent of something clean and sweet. Perhaps it's just whatever she's washed her hair with, but there's something else, too, and it makes him aware of just how grubby he is from his travels and how badly in need of a wash he is. 

"The first week you were gone was awful," she admits, "and I didn't think I'd sleep a wink ever again. I think he missed you and your walking him about the castle at all hours. But he's finally settled and sleeping better and it's such a relief. He'll be even better now that you're back." 

"Has there been word of Ghost?"

Susan reaches for his hand, squeezing lightly. "Jewel and her friends caught up with him near Beruna," she says. "And he's well. He's alive and unhurt and I think he'll come back in time, but--"

"But?"

"Darling, I think we must have given him some great offense. He wouldn't come back with her. You should hear the details from Jewel. I didn't want to pry, but it seemed to me as though his feelings were badly hurt in some way and we'll need to work out a way to make it right."

"He'll talk to Jewel about it, but he won't come home?" Jon can't help but feel stung by that. Ghost has known him for _years_ , Jewel only a small part of that. How can he confide in her when he won't even speak to Jon?

"Well… I think it must be different to talk to Jewel, because he's a Talking Animal now, like Jewel and the rest. That doesn't mean he likes Jewel better, necessarily, but perhaps it's easier for him to confide in another Talking Animal. I think it is a perspective we can't fully understand but must respect. And you know they've grown quite close in all our travels."

There's sense in it, but Jon still feels a little wounded. He'd hoped Ghost would be here when he returned, and to hear he _wouldn't_ come back, even with Jewel's encouragement… it hurts. "I see." 

Susan rises from her chair, carefully so as not to wake Edmund, and moves to sit on the couch near the empty fireplace. Jon goes to sit with her, needing to be close to her and their son after so long away. "You mustn't give up hope," she says gently. "He'll come back when he's ready and then we can work it out. Now, tell me of the deal you made with Telmar. What were their conditions?"

"Tomas was concerned about Narnia keeping all the eggs," Jon explains. "I think he was worried that we might hatch them and use them against _him_ in the future."

"We would never do that!"

"I know that, and you know that, but doesn't have a reason to know that," Jon says. "He doesn't know us, not really. He _does_ know about Peter and the others disappearing. The word seems to have gotten out. So while he might have had an idea how Peter would have done things, he is less sure about you and has no reason to trust me at all."

"So how did you get him to agree to help against Calormen?"

"By agreeing to marry Edmund to his daughter Marilisa when they are of age."

Susan looks at him for a long moment as if she's not understanding what she's heard. "Edmund? As in our _son_ Edmund?"

"Not until they're grown," Jon explains. "Tomas needed an assurance that our alliance wouldn't end once we get the egg back. He strongly implied--no, he didn't just imply it. Tomas was very interested in securing his daughter's future. He said that the second son of the Tisroc has a son now and this second son, Ambrash, proposed a marriage between his son and princess Marilisa. Rabadash hasn't been able to find a wife, so he still has no heir. For now, at least, this boy, Ambrash's son, is in line to the throne of Calormen. Tomas is determined to see his daughter a queen. He clearly preferred Narnia for her, but if I said no he would have given her to Calormen."

"But… our son must have a say in who he marries. We can't decide that for him."

"I know it's not ideal," Jon allows. "They're both babes still. But I didn't know what else to do. We need an alliance with Telmar to stand against Calormen. Even if Peridan gets the giants on our side, it's not enough. We need Telmar."

"I know we need the men, but I can't make this agreement. No one in Narnia can ever be forced to marry. No one can compel another to marry against their will. Not the crown, not their parents… no one can, Jon. It's in our laws."

Jon had anticipated she might not be fond of this arrangement. What he had _not_ anticipated was that Narnian law might not _permit_ this arrangement. "I've given him my word, Susan. I can't go back on it."

"You never should have agreed to it in the first place! You've promised our son in _marriage_. He'll never have a chance to fall in love with someone of his choosing, like we did. And you've committed this poor girl to marrying our son whether she wants to or not!"

"She won't get a choice either way, will she? If I didn't agree to it, they'd arrange for her to marry the Tisroc's grandson--you know she'll be better off here with us than she would be if she went to Calormen." It horrifies Jon that anyone would be willing to marry their daughter into that family, given what Susan has told him about them. The little princess would be better off here in Narnia, for marrying her to that line would be like marrying her to a Bolton.

"You should have sent word! You should have _asked_ me!"

"And what would you have said?"

"I-- I don't _know_. But you should have sent word, you should have asked me!" Their raised voices startle Edmund awake, and he begins to wail. Susan rises from the couch and sways with him a little, making a soft _shush_ ing noise under her breath, trying to soothe him.

In the entire time Jon has known Susan--a short time, in truth, but long enough to fall in love and start their family--they have never disagreed on anything. Small things perhaps, like how warm a room ought to be or whether to sleep in or rise early, but never anything of real consequence. In things that matter, they've always been of a like mind. It is one of the reasons he's found it so easy to love her; their principles, their beliefs, the things they held most dear were all so similar that it was something that drew them to each other. Now that they are in conflict, Jon cannot find his footing. He wants to take Edmund from her and soothe him, and he wants to make things right with Susan as well, but he is so thrown by the discord between them that he cannot make a decision about what he ought to do.

Edmund continues to cry, resisting Susan's attempts to settle him. Jon is about to offer to try his hand at calming him when Susan sits down on the couch again, shifting Edmund against her shoulder with one hand and adjusting the front of her gown with the other. It's a manuever Susan has clearly perfected in the last few weeks, and it only takes a few seconds for her to bare her breast and settle the baby in place. One moment their son is screaming and kicking, his little face reddish-purple with exertion, and the next there is sudden silence as he suckles hard enough to make Susan wince a little.

Jon is still at a loss for his next step. He sits down again on the edge of the couch beside her and waits for her to speak. Susan's gentle calm from earlier is gone; her face is reddened with a flush that creeps down her neck and chest and her lips are pressed into a thin line as she looks down at the baby. He doesn't know if it's the argument they've just had or if it's Edmund's crying and needing to be fed that as flustered her, or both, but she seems as though she is near tears. He doesn't know what to do about that. 

"You asked me to be your Hand," he says quietly, when he can bear the silence no longer. "You asked me to help you make decisions, to speak for you when you were not able to do it yourself. I've tried to do that as well as I am able, and I will continue to do so as long as you permit it. I did what I thought was right." 

Susan nods, still looking down at Edmund, but she doesn't speak. Jon cannot decide if she is angry or upset or both, or somewhat else, but he feels he might say the wrong thing and it will all start over again. He doesn't know how to explain that, though, so instead he says, "I'm going to find Jewel to ask her about Ghost."

Again she nods. "Yes. That's--you should do that."

*****

It takes a little while to find Jewel. Jon eventually finds her coming out of the blacksmith's shop with another Mouse. "Ser Jon," says Jewel with a little bow. "I'm glad you've returned. May I introduce my friend, Sterling? He is from a little town on the Glasswater."

Her companion is a little taller than she is, with silvery-gray fur and lively dark eyes, and is carrying a well-wrapped package under his arm. He wears a thin silver band about his head with a blue feather tucked into it, curling around his ear. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lord," he says, with a gallant little bow. 

Introductions thus made, Jon says, "I wanted to speak to you about Ghost. Susan said you spoke to him in Beruna."

"Yes, my lord. We did."

"Pardon me," says Sterling, "but I need to deliver this package. I shall see you later, my lady." He takes Jewel's paw and kisses it before bowing to Jon again and scampering away down the alley. 

Jewel smooths down her fur and straightens her whiskers and Jon thinks that somewhere under that fur she might be blushing. "I'm sorry you had to see that, my lord," she says, sounding somewhat flustered. "He has the worst sort of manners. I don't know what has gotten into him lately."

Jon is not sure what breach of Mouse manners her friend has committed, but he lets that go for now. He thinks commenting on it would just make her more embarrassed. "Tell me of Ghost," he says, shortening his stride to match Jewel's as they walk toward the keep proper. "Is he all right?"

"Yes, I think so. Sterling and I met up with him in Beruna. He… well, my lord, I don't think I should tell you all that was said. He spoke to me in confidence, you see. It would feel like betraying his trust to tell you some of what he said."

That stings, too, but he appreciates Jewel's sense of loyalty. "I see."

"He's going to come back to you, I'm sure of it," she goes on. "It's only… well. It's different for me, my lord. I've always been a Talking Animal. I don't remember any other life because I've never lived other any way but the way I am now. And I've never been very close to a Human the way Ghost has been close to you. But Ghost wasn't always a Talking Animal, and it's different for him now than it was when he was just a wolf. Before, he had thoughts, and now… well, they're _Thoughts_." The way she says _Thoughts_ makes the capital T clear, as well as the difference between thoughts and Thoughts. 

"Do you think he wishes he _wasn't_ a Talking Animal?" Jon asks. The idea is an uncomfortable one, and it gives him a cold shiver. He cannot help but think of when he was dead, and when he was alive again, and knowing he _shouldn't_ be; what if that is how Ghost feels about being a Wolf? Jon hopes not.

"No, I don't think he wants that. I think he likes what Aslan has done for him. But it seems it is harder than he thought it would be to get his mind around it. At first it was another grand adventure, and now--"

"Now it's different."

"As I said, my lord, I was always a Mouse, so I don't know what it would be like to be a mouse and then a Mouse. And I don't think he wishes he was as he was before, or anything of that sort. He likes being a Talking Animal and he likes this life in Narnia with you and Her Majesty. But there are things that trouble him, and since speech is still somewhat new to him, perhaps it's that he hasn't got the words yet to explain exactly what troubles him."

"Susan seemed to have the idea that we've given Ghost some sort of offense," Jon says. "Hurt his feelings in some way. Do you know anything about that?"

Jewel scratches her chin for a moment, her face wrinkled up in thought. "That might have been how I described it to Her Majesty," she says, "but I think that might not be exactly it. Not quite. My lord… I think it might be best if you just let him be for a time. He promised he wouldn't leave Narnia, so you don't have to worry that he is going to go away. He won't try to go to Westeros or anything like that. He's your friend, and you have to have faith that he'll return when he's ready."

*****

When Jon returns to their chambers, Susan and the baby are not there. Jon takes some time to wash off the grime from his travels. Then the rest of his day is occupied with various matters: the captain of the castle guard reporting on security matters, consulting with Orieus about the state of the armies, and generally getting acquainted with all that happened while he was away. When he realizes he's doing all these things in order to avoid talking to Susan, he chides himself for being craven and returns to their chambers.

Susan is there, waiting for him, but Edmund is not. "He's in the nursery," she says, before Jon can ask.

"We have a nursery?"

"Perhaps nursery is too grand a word for it," she admits. "It's only across the hall, really. He's with the nanny."

"The nanny?" Jon does not know what that word means.

"She has been helping me take care of him," Susan explains. "My maid's sister. I don't think he's spent more than a night or two there ever, because I always want him with me, but I thought we should talk without him."

Jon feels something heavy settle in his stomach at that. "All right."

"Just for a little bit," she adds quickly. "I got upset earlier and it upset him and… I don't think it is very good for him. I'm sorry I was so spiky with you earlier," she says in a rush. "It isn't your fault you didn't know about the way our law works. I shouldn't have let you go off to Telmar to treat with them without knowing what you could and couldn't agree to. It's my fault."

"No, it's mine," Jon says. "I should have asked you before I agreed to it."

Susan shakes her head, twisting her clasped hands together in a way Jon has seen her do before when she's wrestling with her thoughts. "As you said, I asked you to be my Hand, to speak for me and help me rule… and what what a ruler of Narnia supposed to do is think of Narnia. That's what you were thinking--how to keep Narnia safe. And I was thinking of the law, yes, but I was also thinking about our son and his happiness and if I'm perfectly honest, I wasn't thinking about Narnia very much at all. I was just thinking of him. Nothing else."

"Susan--"

"No, that's not true either. Not entirely. I was thinking--if I follow the law, we can't agree to him marrying the Telmarine girl, but then we don't get an alliance that protects Narnia. But if I agree to it, then I'm protecting Narnia but breaking our law and making a decision for Edmund that might doom both of them to a life of misery if they don't get along. And then I realized that you probably weighed all of this already even though you didn't know about the law because you're a good man trying to make the best possible decision out of several bad ones, which is exactly what you've had to do over and over in Westeros and wanted to get away from but I've put you in the very spot you didn't want to be in and I'm _sorry_ , Jon. I'm so, so sorry."

"Stop." He crosses the room to take her hands, and when he does he feels how tense she is, as tight as a drawn bowstring just before it's loosed. "Susan, stop blaming yourself. You're doing the best you can."

"I'm not."

"You _are_." He lets go her hands to draw her close, sliding his arms around her, and as he does he feels the smallest bit of tension ease in her. She's right that he's in the place of making the kind of decisions he didn't want to make anymore, but he knew she was a queen when he fell in love with her, when he agreed to marry her; he knew what he was in for. He can hardly blame _her_ for it. 

"I'm not." Her voice is muffled against his shoulder, and he feels her let out a shuddery little breath. "It sort of came to me all at once that that Peter and Edmund and Lucy are _really_ gone. I think somewhere in the back of my mind I was hoping that they would come back and things would be like they were before and Edmund, our Edmund I mean, wouldn't have to be king some day. He could just be our little boy, without all of this--this _weight_ hanging over him. And I could be _a_ queen of Narnia. Not _the_ Queen of Narnia. I could be your wife and our son's mother and _a_ queen. Not _the_ Queen. I feel as though there isn't enough of me to go round, that there's not enough of me to do all of those things well." Her breath catches in her throat, and when she goes on her voice is very small. "And I feel horribly selfish for even thinking those things, for complaining about them, because they're _gone_ and we don't know what's happened to them."

She takes another long, shuddery breath, and for a moment Jon thinks she might cry. He rubs his hand along her back lightly, saying nothing in case there is somewhat else on her mind she wants to say, but she's quiet for so long that Jon would wonder if she was asleep were they not standing up. The light motion of his hand on her back seems to comfort her, so he keeps it up, tracing the line of her spine through the soft silk of her dressing-gown with his fingertips. He thinks of the night in the north of Ettinsmoor when they'd sat on an old tree-stump in the biting wind and he'd poured out his heart to her about Daenerys--how he'd loved her, what he'd done to her--and how Susan had comforted him with a similar touch. He hopes he's helping her even half as much as she had helped him then. Perhaps he is, for a little at a time he feels more of the tension leave her. 

"I don't think it's selfish for you to think that," he says carefully, after a time. He can see why it would make her feel badly to admit it. She has been alone for most of her pregnancy and for all but something like a fortnight of their son's life, while Jon has been away. It cannot have been easy for her. And soon he'll be leaving again at the head of her armies. "And if it's selfish, then it's selfish. You want to do the best you can for our son. No one can fault you for that."

There's a soft knock at the door. "Your Majesty?"

Gods, can Susan not have a moment's peace? "Just a minute," Jon says, before Susan can answer. He kisses her brow and goes to the door. It's a young, willowy tree-spirit with pale yellow petals in her hair, baby Edmund held carefully in her slender arms. She must be the 'nanny' Susan mentioned. Edmund has shoved one chubby fist into his mouth and is sucking hard at his fingers with a series of frustrated little grunts that Jon can tell will quickly grow into angry wails if his hunger isn't soon satisfied. 

"Pardon me, my lord, but His Highness just woke. I thought Her Majesty might like to feed him before he goes down for the night."

"It's all right," Jon says, taking Edmund from her. He's much heavier than Jon remembers from last time he held him, having clearly grown in the last moon's turn. "I've got him. Thank you."

The nanny curtsies and closes the door softly. Edmund is momentarily distracted from sucking his fingers by the fact that his father is holding him again, and his little grunts become slightly less impatient. "You're a ravenous little pup, aren't you?" Jon murmurs softly, kissing his hair.

"He's always hungry." Susan's voice is tired, but affectionate. "There are days I feel I do nothing but sit about with my breasts out because he constantly wants to eat."

"He's so _big_ ," Jon marvels. Perhaps it only seems so because Jon has been gone for weeks, but he thinks that isn't all of it. The child is simply growing like a weed. Jon supposes there will come a time, one day, when he is too big for Jon to pick up and hold at all. He hopes that day is very long in coming.

"As often as he eats, he'd better be big." Susan arranges some pillows against the headboard of the bed and settles herself against them, then holds out her arms for the baby. "Come here, darling."

Jon always wants to sit close to her when she's feeding their son, though there are times he almost feels guilty for it, for watching them. The soft curve of the baby's cheek echoes the soft curve of Susan's breast and his impatient grunts mellow to something softer and more satisfied as his little belly fills with milk and his hunger eases.

"Does it hurt?" Jon asks, settling beside her, recalling how she'd winced when the baby had latched on the last time he'd fed.

"Not anymore." One of Edmund's little hands comes out of his blanket and flails about, smacking against her breast, and when she catches it he wraps his hand around her finger and holds on. "Not unless he's very hungry, then he gets impatient and sort of bites instead of doing it properly. But I don't think he means to hurt me. He just doesn't know better." She seems to feel steadier, talking about this instead of her feelings, and her voice sounds calmer to Jon's ears than it did before. "If I wait too long to feed him, sometimes everything feels very… full, I suppose. And that can hurt." Her face flushes at that and she looks away, and to Jon's horror he finds his face growing hot as well, which is utterly foolish--he's a man grown with a child, he shouldn't feel strange about speaking of these things, nor should she. "Sometimes when he cries, if I have to wait a bit before I can feed him," she goes on, her voice a whisper, "it feels sort of like a dam about to burst. It was that way earlier, when we were arguing and he woke up and started to cry, and that feels very queer. But when I feed him, it's always good."

Her expression then is very tender when she looks down at their son, and there's such love in it that Jon feels almost absurdly jealous of their child in that moment. It's a terribly confusing feeling. It isn't as though he thinks Susan loves him any less because she loves their son so much; that would be ridiculous. It takes Jon a moment to realize that the jealous-like feeling is a realization that his own mother very likely did not have a chance to hold him like this, or perhaps at all, before she died. He doesn't know why his mother ran off with Rhaegar Targaryen or why Rhaegar put aside his lawful wife to marry her, but he would like to think that as she used her dying breath to charge her brother to care for her son as his own, Lyanna Stark had a chance to love him for at least a moment. 

"Darling? What is it?"

"Nothing," Jon lies. He must have had a strange look on his face when he was lost in his thoughts, for Susan's expression has turned from tenderness to concern. "I was just thinking that he's very lucky to have you for his mother."


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes he wonders what his parents were thinking when they ran off together, and if they'd ever considered that Rhaegar might fall in battle. What was meant to happen to Lyanna and her baby then? What if Lord Stark had never found them? What if Robert Baratheon or his men had found them instead? Now that he's a father, he thinks on this sort of thing more and more. The more he thinks about Rhaegar Targaryen, the angrier he gets, for what sort of man sends the woman he claims to love off to the middle of nowhere to give birth alone and makes no provision for if something goes amiss? What sort of man puts aside his lawful wife, the mother of his children and heirs, and runs away with another woman? He cannot get his mind around it.

Susan doesn't mention the matter of their son's betrothal again in the next few days. Jon doesn't bring it up. She doesn't seem angry about it anymore, and Jon doesn't want to change that state of affairs. There's something about knowing that the Tisroc and what they suspect to be his impending attempt at dragon-hatching are looming on the horizon that feels unfortunately familiar to Jon. It's a sense he's had in the days and weeks before each of the battles he's fought before. Right now he has something peaceful and good with Susan and their son, a calm before the coming storm, and he's not eager to do anything to spoil it.

Peridan returns from the north by week's end. With him, he brings an agreement from Lord Crotag and his brother, the King of Ettinsmoor, that they will stand beside Narnia in this conflict with Calormen. "The king was very clear that this alliance is not out of love for us, Your Majesty, for he has none," Peridan says, when the council--still lacking Ghost--meets together to discuss these matters. "He still holds a great bitterness toward His Majesty the High King for defeating him in battle two winters past. It is only that he hates Calormen even more than he hates Narnia. That, and that Lord Crotag feels he still owes Narnia a debt for saving his sons from the Crimson Queen."

"He does not have to love us," Susan says. "Only stand beside us in this matter. That is enough."

"Then the whole region is united against Calormen," says Orieus. "Archenland, Galma, Terebinthia, the Seven Isles, Narnia, Ettinsmoor, and Telmar. The Tisroc will have no choice but to surrender the egg."

"How did you convince the King of Telmar to ally with us?" Peridan asks. "Did we give them a new trade agreement?"

Susan replies before Jon can speak. "We have agreed to marry Prince Edmund to Princess Marilisa, the king's daughter, when they come of age," she says.

There is an uneasy silence. "But, Your Majesty," Jewel says hesitantly, "the law--"

"I know the law, Jewel," Susan says shortly. "I know that no one in Narnia can be compelled to marry against their will." Her voice softens a little, almost apologetic. "It is a law for which I myself am very grateful. But we had reason to believe that the king of Telmar would marry his daughter to the son of the Tisroc's second son, creating an alliance with Calormen, if we did not agree to marry her to Prince Edmund. And that alliance is not something we can afford."

"Who could consider giving his daughter to--" Tumnus begins, and then, perhaps belatedly remembering that Susan had herself considered marriage to a son of the Tisroc at one time, trails off into an awkward silence. "I mean to say…"

"Yes, perhaps it is better that the girl have a chance to come to Narnia," Jewel says. "She would be gently treated here. Little chance of that happening if she wed a Tarkaan."

"That was also considered," says Susan. "It is not ideal, but I don't see a better option before us at the moment. We need Telmar on our side and not on Calormen's, and now they are."

"King Tomas will lead the Telmarine army himself," Jon says, in order to steer the conversation away from his misstep in making this agreement--which, he realizes, Susan has presented to the council as her own decision, not his--and on to something more productive. "He will bring his forces to Cair Paravel by the moon's turn. King Lune has given us permission to take the route through the pass at Anvard, where he and his men will join us." He indicates a route drawn on the map spread out on the council table. 

"The King of Terebinthia, the King of the Seven Isles, and the Duke of Galma have all agreed to send ships to support Narnia's naval forces," Jon goes on. "They will also meet at Cair Paravel, then sail south and up the River Calormen and blockade it."

"Will you bring all the armies into the city?" Peridan asks.

"No." Jon moves the small pieces inscribed with the scarlet cross of Archenland, the golden Narnian lion, and black-and-bronze Telmarine raven across the map, as well as the small ships bearing the sigils of the island nations of the region--seven white stars on blue for the Seven Isles, a kraken for Terebinthia, a golden lily for Galma--setting them in place as he speaks. "We'll position them outside the city and King Tomas, King Lune, and I--and a representative of the giants, I think, as well--will enter the city and request to speak to the Tisroc. We'll give him a chance to return the egg and avoid war. If he won't take it, he's surrounded, but he won't be able to say we didn't ask first."

"What if he won't cooperate?"

"Then we'll cut off the city," Jon says. "Our ships will fill the river and we'll have enough troops to surround Tashbaan. They'll be cut off from supplies and trade." He has no desire to sack the city. He knows what happens when a city is sacked, and he won't punish the Calormene smallfolk for what their Tisroc has done. But he _cannot_ be allowed to hatch that egg. 

"If the siege goes on for some time, King Lune will establish a supply line from Archenland," says Susan, indicating the route on the map. "Most of the major cities of Calormen are to the south of Tashbaan. There is no convenient place to ford the River Calormen except at Tashbaan, for there are pleasure-houses all along the river almost to the sea. We will have the river blocked, so we will control the crossing. We will be able to bring troops and supplies to the southern side of the city, but Calormenes coming from the south cannot access the northern side."

Jewel frowns, tugging at her whiskers. "I do not like the idea of a siege," she says. "It is rather hard on the common people, and is likely to not bother the Tarkhaans very much at all. But if the Tisroc does not cooperate, I do not see what choice we have."

"Jon is correct that we must give the Tisroc a chance to hand over the egg without violence," says Susan. "It is the right and honorable thing. But having met him myself, I can say I do not think he will give it up without having his hand forced."

"Hope for the best, and plan for the worst," says Tumnus.

There is some more discussion about their plans for the way forward, and then the meeting adjourns. The rest of the council leaves the room, but Susan remains behind to study the map some more, so Jon does as well.

"Have you changed your mind about the agreement with Telmar?" Jon asks.

"What do you mean?"

"You made it sound as if you are in favor of the agreement," he says. "But last we spoke of it, you said you couldn't agree to it because of Narnian law."

"I haven't changed my mind," Susan says. She picks up one of the Telmarine pieces from the map, studying it carefully. Jon wonders if she's thinking what he thought when he first saw the Telmarine sigil-- _a black bird, falling from the sky_. "I can't order our son to marry this girl. The law is very clear. But I didn't want to disagree with you in front of them. I don't want to disagree with you at _all_ ," she clarifies, putting the piece down again. "But I thought we should seem a united front. You're about to lead our armies into a situation that's very dangerous for them and for you, and I don't want them to think I have anything but the greatest trust and confidence in you."

Jon isn't sure what she means by that. Does that mean she _doesn't_ trust him? Something tightens inside him then, squeezing at his heart, and it's something that's uncomfortably familiar. He felt it whenever Ygritte had doubted him (she, at least, had had good reason to doubt him) and whenever Daenerys had doubted him (though she had not). "Susan, I had to agree to it," he says, feeling the need to explain himself, to make her understand he wasn't trying to undermine her. "It was the only way to ensure our forces were strong enough to be a serious threat to Calormen. I know it puts our son in an awkward position, but I did it to protect him. And you. And all the Narnians."

Susan looks up from the map then, her brow furrowed in what Jon thinks is confusion. "I know you did," she says. "I asked you to go and speak on my behalf, to make an alliance in my name, and you did just that. I'm not angry with you for it. I don't like it, but it isn't a problem we can solve right now so there's no sense in dwelling on it when we have more immediate problems to deal with."

"But…" Jon trails off, unsure how to finish the sentence he'd just started. 

She moves around the table to come and stand close to him, touching his arm lightly. "Darling, do you think that because I disagree with you on this, that I don't trust you anymore? That by disagreeing with you, it somehow lessens my love for you?"

Hearing her ask this in her calm and gentle voice makes Jon feel ridiculous, yet he realizes that's very close to exactly what he thought, and he's not sure how to answer her.

Fortunately, she doesn't seem to expect an actual answer. "I don't claim to have some great knowledge or experience of men, or of marriage at all," she says. "We're both learning how to do this as we go. But I think it isn't realistic to expect that we will always be in perfect agreement about everything. Sometimes we're going to disagree. Goodness knows I disagree with Peter at least half the time and he's my _brother_. I'm sure you argued with Sansa at least a little."

"More than a little." And often publicly, much to Jon's discomfort.

Susan touches his cheek then, and there's such affection and trust in her eyes that he feels foolish for doubting her. "If I had reason to think you were… trying to undermine me or something like that, it would be different, but you've never done anything of the sort, and I understand that when you agreed to this you didn't know it wouldn't be allowed under Narnian law. You wouldn't have had reason to know, and it's my fault for not telling you. You made the best decision you could with the information you had, and just because I don't like the decision doesn't mean I love you less. I know you were just trying to protect our son and to protect Narnia. That's why I wanted the council to think we are in agreement on this. I _trust_ you, and I want to make sure they trust you too."

"I would never undermine you." He had hated it when Sansa had contradicted him in front of the Northern lords--not that he didn't value her opinion, but he wished she'd given it privately. 

"I know you wouldn't." She draws her fingertips along his jaw and down along the collar of his tunic for a moment, then rests her palm against his chest. "I know I can't really understand all of the things that happened to you in Westeros, because I wasn't there," she says gently. "But you've told me enough that I understand that there were people you trusted, who your family trusted, who betrayed that trust in different ways. And I think because of that, it might be hard for you to trust that I'm not going to betray you too."

"I don't--"

"Let me finish? I'm not sure I'm saying this correctly," she allows. "I only mean that if you _did_ feel unsure about things sometimes, I think that's justified. I'm not offended by it. I can tell you every hour of the day that I love you and I will never betray your trust, but in the end it's only words. It will take time for you to see the words backed by actions. I'm not going to turn on you because we don't agree about a policy or a law. I promise."

Jon has never been one to feel comfortable speaking of his feelings, and that hasn't improved much in his time in Narnia. But he's learned Susan well enough to know she doesn't actually expect him to talk about it and won't be frustrated by his lack of eloquence. "Come here," he says, drawing her into his arms to hold her close. "I do love you." That, at least, is something he can say without tripping over his words.

"You show me that every day," she murmurs.

"When I'm here, that is."

"And when you've been away, it's always been on my behalf." She draws back a bit to look at him. "Looking for my family, trying to make an alliance for Narnia. I couldn't do any of this without you." She fidgets a bit with the lacing at the neck of his tunic, and her cheeks flush a little. "Of course… selfishly I'd rather have you here with me, but I don't get to be selfish."

Jon draws in a careful breath. There's a little shift in her expression, in her tone of voice that he hasn't heard for some time, since before the birth of their son. Even if he doesn't want to think too much about the details, he's aware that it takes some time to recover from giving birth; the little shift in her voice makes him wonder if that time is close to an end. "Aye," he says, and his voice is a little huskier than he'd expected it to be. "We don't get to be selfish."

Susan seems quite focused on fidgeting with that bit of his tunic and determinedly avoiding meeting his eyes. "After one has a baby, there's a certain amount of… well. Rest, and… getting better, that has to happen." Her face grows even redder then. "What I mean to say is, I'm feeling much better lately, and I hope I'll be feeling more like myself before you have to go south," she says. "Because I've missed being with you."

"I've missed that too." More than he can possibly say with the inadequate words he has at his disposal. 

Susan winds her arms around his neck and leans in to kiss him. It's tender, as it always is with her, but there's a stirring of desire in it too, and Jon welcomes it. He would have gone on kissing her, relishing the way her mouth yields softly to his, the little sound of want that she makes when he deepens the kiss, and the warmth of her body pressed against his, but after a few moments she pulls away, her cheeks flushed--this time not from embarrassment--and eyes bright. "Goodness," she whispers. 

It's so prim and proper of her that Jon can't help but smile at it. "Aye," he says, teasing her gently. " _Goodness_."

*****

The army Jon will take south is the largest Narnian army that has been assembled under the Pevensies' reign. Narnia has become much more populous since the time of the great army assembled to defeat the White Witch, and so her forces have grown as well. They're well-trained. Jon has already seen evidence of this from Lucy's all-female company brought to defeat the Crimson Queen, but it's even more apparent to Jon in the drills he calls for each day as they prepare for their departure. 

He's been aware for some time how formidable the centaurs are, but seeing them up-close in their drills is another thing entirely. While they _look_ like they are part human and part horse, they are far more powerful than a man on horseback could ever hope to be. Many have equal skill with the lance and the sword, and the sword is nearly always a claymore--massive two-handed swords larger even than Ice had been. The ease with which they wield these enormous weapons makes the blades appear to weigh no more than Needle, yet Jon can barely pick one up, much less use it with any effectiveness. Such is their skill with the lance that Orieus explains to Jon that whenever there is a tourney, the centaurs always have a separate joust from the humans; it would not be a fair contest for humans to compete against centaurs, since centaurs cannot be unseated and are far stronger than any human. (In war, however, this particular notion of "fairness" does not apply.) 

The Talking Horses are determined to prove their worth in battle. It's been explained to Jon often that Talking Horses are never ridden except to war. Now that it's come to war, the Talking Horses are the first to volunteer. Bree has recovered from his all-out sprint to try to get Jon home in time for the birth of his son, and he asks that he be allowed to carry Jon into battle. 

"It would be an honor to carry the Queen's husband, a Knight of Narnia, into battle, my lord," says Bree. "And as I was forced to be a war horse to one of the great Tarkaans for several years, I know their tactics. I can teach you."

"Anything you can share will help," Jon says. "I don't know anything about Calormen except what I can learn from all of you."

"We'll need to train together," Bree says. "You're not such a bad rider, my lord, all things considered, but riding to war is different than ordinary sorts of riding."

Jon thinks he doesn't need to be told that, since he's likely seen as much of war as Bree has, but he remembers that just riding across Narnia with Bree had taken some getting used to in the way that riding a dragon had taken some getting used to, so he readily agrees. After two days of training together, he's glad he's agreed to it. An ordinary war horse can be trained to kick and bite at the enemy in battle, but a Talking Horse trained for war is something else all together. Learning to ride Bree in this way is like learning to ride all over again.

Susan has already explained to him how the flying Animals contribute to a battle. Still, it is impressive to watch them at their training. The Griffins have a way of flying high enough above the battlefield that they are well out of range of archers, yet they are able to quickly dive and drop boulders or barrels of pitch with precision before soaring out of range again. He thinks they might be vulnerable to a weapon similar to those that took down Rhaegal, but he doesn't know if the Calormenes have such weapons. Even if they do, he thinks the smaller size of the Griffins makes them able to maneuver more quickly than a dragon could, so they might be less vulnerable to such attacks. Their weakness is that they can only carry one boulder or barrel at a time, and even at top speed, it takes some time for them to fly back to wherever their cache is located and return for another strike. Still, they are an aerial force that no one else has--as long as no one hatches a dragon--so it is an advantage.

There are other Talking Animals in the Narnian forces, and though Jon would not have imagined them in battle before coming to Narnia, he recognizes their importance here. Bears are slow, but their strength is massive, and properly armored they will be difficult to stop; Leopards are faster and lighter and can only tolerate the lightest of ringmail, but their teeth are just as deadly, and their claws seem to be able to find the weak spots in a man's armor far better than a man with a sword can. It surprises him one day to see Squirrels and Beavers outside the armory, being fitted for small shirts of gleaming ringmail. He cannot picture what use they would be if it comes to pitched battle. Yet he knows that Jewel and her company of Mice are so quick that they are nearly invisible, and a man looking for an attack from the air or from a centaur before him might not realize he has been hamstrung by a Mouse or Squirrel until it is too late. And if they need to dam the River Calormen or dig beneath the city of Tashbaan to force an end to a prolonged siege, then who better to do it than those Animals who are experts at building dams and digging tunnels?

To prepare for the battle with the Night King, Jon had ordered a sword or spear in the hand of every man, woman, girl, and boy from ages ten to sixty. If Jon could order ten year olds to defend the north against the Night King, what right does he have to tell Squirrels and Mice experienced in the ways of war that they cannot defend their homeland? So he says nothing to discourage them, and arranges for Jewel to supervise their training.

He has never seen archers as accurate and deadly as the Fauns. It does not seem to matter how far back they stand from their targets. They rarely miss their mark. As a whole, their reflexes are not always the quickest, but their accuracy is a good trade-off for speed, Jon thinks. Some also show promise with sword and shield and when Jon isn't training with Bree and the other Talking Horses, he trains with them.

Susan often joins the archers in their drills, even though she will not be going to Calormen with them. Jon would have thought it an easy decision to come to, given how young their son is--war is no place for an infant, and Susan cannot be apart from him for any length of time since she refuses to engage a wet nurse--and her previous poor experience in Calormen, but she wrestled with it for some time before deciding to stay at Cair Paravel. Out of everyone in Narnia, she has had more interaction with the Tisroc, his advisors and family, and perhaps knows them best. Her knowledge would be useful. But it's too dangerous, and Jon is glad when she decides to remain in Narnia. If this battle goes poorly, she and their son need to be safe.

It occurs to him during one afternoon of training that if this battle goes poorly, even Cair Paravel might not be safe enough for them. If it goes poorly enough that all of the combined armies and naval forces of the region cannot defeat the Calormenes, the Tisroc may seek revenge--first on Archenland, then on Narnia, perhaps even Telmar and Ettinsmoor and the others. Susan and little Edmund will not be safe anywhere.

He watches Susan at her drills with the archers for a time, when his own training is finished for the day. She's said many times she does not like fighting, a sentiment Jon understands well, but he thinks it something of a shame for her skills are impressive. When she calls an end to it, the archers step away from the line and a group of young Squirrels, too young to join the fighting themselves, scamper across the field to retrieve the arrows.

"You're very good," Jon says. 

"Lucy is better," Susan says, unbuckling the vambrace that protected her slender wrist from the bowstring. "She's far steadier than I am."

"You're very good," he repeats, attempting to keep her from deflecting the compliment as she so often does. Then he takes her arm and leads her away from the group, not wanting to be overheard, as what he's meant to say is not likely to be conducive to good morale. "I want to be sure we've spoken of every possibility. I don't think it's likely, but _if_ it goes badly, if we're defeated--"

"Jon--"

"No, listen." It's too important a conversation for them to mince words on. "If it goes badly, you know the Tisroc will want to take his revenge on Narnia. If he's able to break the combined armies, the garrison we leave here at Cair Paravel won't be enough to stop him. You _must_ protect Edmund. Even Ettinsmoor or Telmar might not be safe for you. Go beyond the Wall, find Tormund and the free folk. If the way is still open it will be the safest place for you." 

"But Westeros isn't safe for Edmund," Susan says. "Because of who you really are."

"The free folk don't know about that and they wouldn't care if they did," Jon says. "Tormund knows you and he'll know Edmund is mine. That'll be enough for him. Take as many Narnians as you can with you and go beyond the Wall. You could fit Narnia beyond the Wall ten times over and have room to spare, and it's good land now. There's plenty of room for anyone you can take with you. You can't take them south," he adds. He's told her of Sansa's letter and the tensions with the Six Kingdoms, and they're in agreement that Jon's son by a foreign queen won't help any of that at all. And the Narnians would be easily exploited and abused there. It's not an option. "But you'll be safe with the free folk. And when Edmund's grown, perhaps he can raise a force to take Narnia back."

"I don't want to think like this."

Jon has failed to consider every outcome before, to his own detriment. He won't allow it to happen to his son. "Promise me you'll go to the free folk if the worst happens."

Susan clearly doesn't like the idea at all, but she must see the sense in it, for she nods. "All right. If the worst happens… I'll do as you ask."

"I don't want to think about it either, Susan," he assures her. "But we must." Sometimes he wonders what his parents were thinking when they ran off together, and if they'd ever considered that Rhaegar might fall in battle. What was meant to happen to Lyanna and her baby then? What if Lord Stark had never found them? What if Robert Baratheon or his men had found them instead? Now that he's a father, he thinks on this sort of thing more and more. The more he thinks about Rhaegar Targaryen, the angrier he gets, for what sort of man sends the woman he claims to love off to the middle of nowhere to give birth alone and makes no provision for if something goes amiss? What sort of man puts aside his lawful wife, the mother of his children and heirs, and runs away with another woman? He cannot get his mind around it.

"We have to think about it because we're his parents."

"Aye. And because you're the only Queen they've got right now, and he's your heir. He's the future of Narnia."

Susan slings her quiver onto her back and takes Jon's hand in hers. "I love how much you love him. He couldn't ask for a better father than you."

There are times Jon feels like he doesn't have the faintest notion about how to be a father. So far, he seems to be doing an adequate job of it. "Or a better mother than you. Let's go and see him." It's mid-afternoon, so their son is like to be awake soon and he'll want his mother.

They head back up to the castle together, hand in hand. The outer sections of the castle are bustling with activity. Wagonloads of food come to the castle daily from across Narnia, and what isn't being stored here at the castle is being organized and prepared for the journey south. The smiths are busy making weapons and armor, coopers making barrels for water and pitch and foodstuffs, and the weavers and spinners and dyers are all occupied with uniforms and banners and every thing that can be made of cloth. But in the keep proper, it is quieter. Everyone is either occupied on the lower levels of the castle or still on the training grounds, and the halls are empty save for the few guards on duty.

It's too quiet, actually. 

It's quiet in a way that feels _wrong_.

Susan must sense that wrongness too, for her steps slow as they approach the corridor with their chambers and Edmund's nursery; then she stops abruptly when they see that the door to the nursery is ajar and there is no sign of the guard who is usually outside their chambers. Jon reaches for Longclaw, unsheathing the sword without a sound. Susan draws one of her remaining arrows from the quiver at her back and nocks it to her bowstring, then waits for Jon to carefully ease open the door.

The nursery is empty save for the crumpled figure of Edmund's nanny, the tree-spirit, slumped near the foot of Edmund's overturned cradle. "Oh, _no_ ," whispers Susan, kneeling beside the girl, touching her gently for any signs of life. "Liliana, _no._ I'm so sorry."

Jon keeps an eye on the door as Susan examines the tree-spirit. "Is she…"

"She's dead." Susan's voice catches as she speaks. "Her throat's been cut. She must have died trying to protect Edmund--Jon, we have to find him. Someone has our _son_."

 _Someone has our son._ Jon hears this as though the words are being said to someone else, and he's hearing it as from a very great distance. _Someone has our son._ Who in this castle would have any reason to harm them? Who would want to harm an innocent child?

Who in this castle has nothing else to lose?

A great bell clangs then, a sound Jon's never heard before at Cair Paravel, bringing the far-off sounds of shouts from elsewhere in the castle and Susan scrambles to her feet. "Someone's sounded the alarm," she says, rushing out of the nursery and through their chambers with Jon at her heels to the balcony off their bedroom, which overlooks the harbor below, where a crowd of Narnians has gathered round a group of three humans. Two of the men are armed with swords, while the third holds a screaming bundle of blankets that can only be Edmund. Even from this far away, Jon can hear the high-pitched squalling of his son over the shouting between the Narnians and the three men, and it fills him with such a rage he can hardly think clearly.

"It's Hardwin and the others," Susan says, and then, pointing to the edge of the group of Narnians that's gathered round the men and their son, where a shaggy white shape emerges from the crowd, advancing on the men. "Jon, look! It's Ghost!" But Jon has no need for her to tell him that Ghost was there, though; somehow he _knows_ Ghost is there even before he sees him in the crowd, and there is a moment when he is both seeing everything happen from far away and from Ghost's perspective at the same time, as if he is both on the balcony and at the harbor at once.

What happens then would likely not have happened at all if any of them had been thinking rationally, but it is not possible to be rational in that moment. Ghost advances on the men at the same time Susan fits an arrow to the string and lets it fly, once, then twice, taking out two of the men one after the other, while Ghost brings down the third, the man holding Edmund, who drops him when Ghost lunges; Edmund hits the pier and rolls off, sinking into the water with a splash.

" _Edmund!_ "

Jon has never run as fast in his life as he has then. The idea that he will not get there in time to be of any use does not occur to him; only that he must get to his son at all costs, and though he knows Susan is right behind him he does not stop to wait for her. Out of their chambers, through the corridors and halls and twisting stairways, skidding on the gleaming marble floors more than once but never stopping, not once, until he's come to the pier. "Get out of the way! Where is my son?" The crowd parts as soon as they realize it's Jon, and there's a terrifying moment where he has no idea where his son is, for he is nowhere to be seen; then the surface of the water breaks and a mermaid surfaces with Edmund in her arms. Jon falls to his knees on the pier and takes his son from the mermaid. He's cold from the water, and his little mouth hangs open, lips faintly blue, eyes closed.

No breath. No heartbeat.

This cannot be happening. Jon thinks of the darkness, the _nothingness_ he knows that is all there is of what awaits them after death, and the idea that it is where his son is now is worse than a hundred knives to the heart. His little life had only just begun, and now it is over. It is nothingness. He will never take his first steps, never say his first word, never swing his first sword, never lie with a woman. There is nothing else for him but this. The terror of that knowledge freezes him, and he doesn't know what to say or do, not even when Susan drops to her knees beside him and begins to sob.

Another splash, and the mermaid hauls herself from the water to sit on the edge of the pier. "Turn him over," the mermaid instructs, placing her hands on Edmund, trying to show Jon what she means for him to do, to turn the baby facedown across Jon's lap. She yanks at the sodden blankets still half-wrapped round him, tossing them aside, and then strikes Edmund's back with her smooth pale hands. "You must force the water from his lungs. You cannot be gentle if you want him to breathe the air again." It goes against every instinct Jon has to _hit_ his child, but desperation forces his hand, and he does as the mermaid instructs, striking Edmund's back again and again in an attempt to force the seawater from his little lungs and let him breathe again. _Please….please…._

He does not know if he is praying to the old gods or Aslan or the Lord of Light or perhaps it does not matter, as long as _someone_ answers.

Anyone, as long as they will save his son.

A gush of water spews from Edmund's mouth, a rattling cough, a weak whimper and gasp, then an angry scream, and Edmund is squalling again. The relief that floods Jon then is so strong his hands shake uncontrollably and he nearly drops Edmund again, but the mermaid has her hand on him as well and he doesn't fall. He picks Edmund up properly and holds him close, stroking his little back and kissing his hair and Susan peppers his little face with kisses even as he screams. "Thank you," he says to the mermaid, the words falling out of him in a rush. "It's not enough, but thank you. You saved his life. Gods--I don't even know your name."

"I am called Asherah."

"I don't know how to thank you, Asherah. We owe you--so much. You saved his life."

"He will be well," says Asherah, smiling softly. "The crying is good. If he can cry, he can breathe. Let him cry for a time to rid himself of the water."

Susan can hardly get the words out to thank the mermaid, for she is now sobbing tears of relief, and after a moment he gives Edmund to her. She cradles their son in her arms, sitting there on the dock, rocking him back and forth, kissing and touching him all over as if to assure herself that he's truly alive and all right.

"What shall be done with them?" Jon looks up from his son's face, finally flush with life, to see Ghost still standing on the chest of Lord Hardwin, pinning him to the pier. Beyond him is the motionless body of Lord Sharpe, with Susan's arrow in his heart, and Lord Glascock just beyond him with another of her arrows in his thigh, his arms bound behind him under the guard of a centaur.

"It is for the Queen to decide," Jon says.

Susan reaches for Jon's hand and he helps her to her feet, with Edmund still held securely against her. Her face is red and tear-splotched, and there is a fury in her eyes Jon has never seen, but recognizes it well, for it is the same fury as his own. "For the attempted kidnapping of Prince Edmund, _my son_ , I, Queen Susan of Narnia, sentence you to die."

She looks at Jon then, and he understands perfectly what she is asking of him. 

"Orieus," he says, seeing the centaur just behind Ghost. "Fetch me a block."

He has not once seen fear in the eyes of any of the Lone Islanders for what they have done. Not until now. Until now, he realizes, they have always been confident of their eventual success, perhaps counting on some legality, some mercy that might be shown by the High King on his return when they could speak to him as one man to another, or assuming that Susan's gentle nature would prevent her from carrying out any sentence of consequence. Now, sitting on the pier at Cair Paravel, the former Governor's face clearly shows the realization that his time is at an end, for he has finally pushed his queen too far. There will be no reprieve for what he has done. Hardwin tries to scramble away from Ghost, but Jon grabs him by the shoulders and slams him back into the pier. "You nearly killed my _son_ ," he says, shaking him with all the pent-up fury he feels. "How _dare_ you touch my son!" 

It is different than the emptiness he had felt, looking at Ser Alliser and Olly and the others who had killed him, when he heard their last words before they were hanged for their treason. That had been something cold and grey and bleak; this is a fury so red-hot Jon thinks he might burn up with it, and for a moment he loses all sense of where he is or what he's doing. It is only when Ghost catches Jon's wrist carefully in his jaws he realizes that he's pounded Hardwin's face into a bloody mess.

"Let it be done the old way," Ghost says, and Jon steps back.

Orieus returns with a headsman's block. He puts it in the center of the pier and hauls Hardwin onto it, forcing him to his knees. The man dies not blubbering about his own cowardice like Janos Slynt, or with angry dignity like Alliser Thorne, but sniffling through his broken nose and whispering a desperate prayer. Jon hardly lets him finish before he strikes his head off his shoulders with Longclaw; another centaur hauls his body away so that Glascock can be forced down to the block in his place. 

Sharpe is already dead, but Jon removes his head as well and orders that the three men's heads be put on spikes outside the walls of Cair Paravel.

"My lord," Orieus begins, an unusual hesitance in his voice, but Jon cuts him off before he can object further.

"I don't care if it isn't done here," Jon says. "I want it done. I want everyone to see what happens to anyone who threatens my family."

"Do it," says Susan shortly.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"They killed Liliana in the nursery to take him from her," she adds. "Find out who else they killed--they must have killed the guards in the dungeons to escape. We will pay restitution to their families for giving their lives to our service, and their rites will be given the highest honors."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Susan turns to go back to the castle; Edmund, in her arms, is still crying. The crowd parts to give her room, bowing their heads as she passes. Jon follows her with Ghost at his heels, and while he's glad for his friend's reappearance and his help in apprehending Edmund's kidnappers, first he needs to see that Susan and their son are all right. Ghost seems to understand that. He hangs back when they reach the corridor with the nursery and their chambers. 

"I'll see you soon," he says to Ghost, and follows Susan inside.

"Is he all right?" Jon asks, when he and Susan are in their rooms. She removes the rest of Edmund's waterlogged clothing and wraps him in a fresh blanket, making soothing sounds as she does so.

"I think so. He must have been terribly frightened." Susan picks their son up again and cradles him against her shoulder, trying to comfort him. "It's all right, darling. You're all right. Your mother and your father are here and no one is ever going to hurt you again, sweet one. I know, it was very scary. You're safe now." Her words are reassuring, but her voice trembles and falters, as if she's on the edge of tears herself, and after a moment she thrusts Edmund at him with tears in her eyes. "Can you--"

"Come here." He takes their son from her, swaying a little with him in a way he knows he generally likes.

"It's my fault." Susan presses her hands to her mouth for a moment as if to keep herself from crying, and when she speaks again her voice is muffled. "I was too afraid to carry out their sentence right away, and I brought them here and just… I was hoping the others would return and I wouldn't have to deal with it. It's my fault he almost died. And Liliana--it's my fault."

"Susan, don't do this." She isn't wrong, exactly, but not entirely correct, either, and in any case there is little sense in berating herself for it now.

"I should have had you execute them before we left the Lone Islands. I should have had the stomach to do it then. You _told_ me, Jon. You told me I should deal with them and I didn't listen to you."

"You made a mistake." Gods know Jon has made his share of mistakes, and he paid for them dearly. "Every ruler makes mistakes. You won't make it again."

"Peter told me all the time I was too tender-hearted," she says. "That I needed to be tougher. I used to think he was so mean for it, but he was _right_."

He doesn't agree with that assessment by his brother-by-law, but he can tell that Susan won't hear reason just now and his words will fall on her ears like a stone. "One mistake, Susan."

"You forget about all the Narnians and Archenlanders who died because I couldn't give Rabadash a straight _no_ ," she says. "Another mistake. An enormous one."

"That isn't your fault. He tricked you."

"I shouldn't have let him trick me. I should have been smarter than that. I should have been braver than this." She wipes at her eyes with her sleeve, taking a deep breath to try to regain her composure. "Stay here with Edmund. I need to find Verbana and tell her about her sister, if she hasn't heard it already. She should hear it from me."

It takes Jon some time to calm Edmund after Susan leaves. He can't fault his son for being upset. He's just a babe, and being yanked about and drowned, pounded on the back and coughing up lungfuls of saltwater must be confusing and frightening for someone so small. He paces back and forth with his son for what feels like hours, humming a little under his breath or murmuring nonsense to him by turns. It's as much for his own benefit as it is for Edmund's, for the red-hot fury that rose in him at the threat to his son is slow to dissipate.

Finally Edmund can stay awake no longer, and he drops into an exhausted sleep in Jon's arms. His little body is slack with sleep, but it isn't the lifeless limpness of before, for Jon can feel the rise and fall of his breathing, feel the warmth of him swaddled in his blankets, and hear the faintest snore from him here and there as he sleeps. 

Still, Jon isn't in a hurry to put him down. He sits down carefully on one of the couches by the empty fireplace, doing his best not to jostle his son as he does so. 

There's a scratch at the door. "Come in," Jon says quietly.

Ghost pads into the room silently, his tail drooping and his head hanging lower than Jon is used to seeing. "Will he be all right?" Ghost asks.

"He will be now," Jon says. "He was badly frightened. As was I."

"I am sorry." Ghost hangs back even now, and Jon feels something like… reluctance, and shame, and a little bit of jealousy, and he doesn't know why he feels any of it. "I should not have attacked Hardwin when I did. It made him drop your son. He could have drowned."

"You were trying to help," Jon says.

"The men were demanding a ship," Ghost says. "They said if they were not given safe passage away from the castle, they would slit your son's throat and dump him in the ocean. I thought if they got a ship they would kill him anyway. I could not let them leave with him."

"No. You did the right thing." 

"It was… I did not know where you were, yet I _knew_ where you were. I could see the men before me, yet I could see them from far away as well, as if I were a bird above the castle. I could see that Susan was about to shoot, as if she were standing beside me, and when she did I knew Hardwin would kill your son, as he would have nothing left to bargain for. So I attacked him."

 _I could see the men before me, yet I could see them from far away as well._ Ghost's words send a chill down Jon's spine, for it is as if Ghost had described exactly what Jon himself had seen and felt, but the other way round. He doesn't know what to do with this. Does it make him a warg, like Orell and his eagle? Or like Bran, with his ability to see through the eyes of whatever animal he chooses? But Ghost is not just an animal anymore, and it feels wrong to think of it. He puts the thought aside. "Why did you come back?" The question he really wants to ask is _why did you go away?_ but he is not sure he wants the answer.

"Aslan," Ghost says. "I think it was Aslan. I did not dream before, when I was an ordinary wolf, but since I became as I am now, I often dream. Two nights ago, I dreamed of the crypts beneath Winterfell, but they were not beneath Winterfell. They were beneath this castle. And in place of the statues of your mother and uncle and the other Starks, there were statues for you and your son. It was a warning from Aslan. So I came home."

Jon still cannot shake the feeling of shame and regret, and he wonders if this, too, is something he is seeing--feeling--from Ghost's eyes as it was on the balcony before. He badly wants to know why Ghost went away, but he cannot make himself speak the words.

"You want to know why I stayed away."

"I do," Jon admits.

"I stayed away because I felt things that were unworthy," Ghost says quietly. "This… seeing things you see. It has happened before, though until now it was always a feeling. Not a seeing. When you learned you were to be a father, it happened more and more. I could feel how happy you were about the babe, how much you love your wife." He looks away, and his raspy northern voice softens. "When the word came to us on the road that she was to have the babe, your happiness was such that I could not bear it, and I fled. I was jealous. I _am_ jealous. You have a mate who makes you happy, a pack of your own. I am the only wolf in Narnia."

This had not occurred to Jon, and he feels stupid for having never considered it. Ghost is the only one of his kind in the land, and for all they know, in the entire world. "I'm sorry."

"You should not be sorry for your happiness. I am glad you have it, even if I am jealous for it. In Westeros, you would not have this. And I would not have the friends I have here. The Talking Animals have accepted me without question as one of their own, even before I could think and speak as they do."

"But you're still alone," Jon says, as the realization comes to him. The shame and regret he feels now is what _Ghost_ feels, and he recognizes that it's more than that too. It's loneliness, the same sort of loneliness that Jon often felt as a child, growing up as a bastard at Winterfell, with the Starks but not a Stark, playing and training with Robb like a brother but never seated with him at feasts as a brother would be, surrounded by family but still alone.

"Aye." 

"I'm sorry," Jon says again.

"Do not be sorry for it," Ghost says a second time. "I must learn not to be jealous. It is an unworthy emotion."

In other times, Jon might give Ghost a scratch behind the ear or a pat on the head, but that feels wrong to do now. Condescending, perhaps. If Ghost were a person--if he were Sam Tarly, for instance, he'd sit and have a drink with him and they'd talk about it. Perhaps he could help Ghost deal with his thoughts by treating him as the Wolf he is now, and not the wolf he used to be. "Sit with me," Jon says, nodding to the space on the couch beside him.

Ghost crosses the space between them and leaps easily onto the couch, though in truth he's tall enough that it's more of a step up than a leap. "He has your look," he says, nodding to baby Edmund. 

Jon shifts his son a little in his arms so that Ghost might see him better. "You can't see it now, but he has Susan's eyes," he says. But every day he looks a little more and a little more like Jon, with what will one day be a serious Northern face like Jon and Arya, like Lord Stark, like what he imagines his own mother to have looked like.

For a few long moments, Ghost is silent, simply looking at Edmund. Then he says, "You are going south soon, to Calormen, for the egg?"

"Yes," says Jon. "Very soon."

"If you wish me to stay here and guard your son, then I will do this," Ghost says. "But I would like to go south with you. I have been away from your side long enough."

"There is no one I trust more with my family than you," Jon says. "And no one I trust at my side more than you." If he is to treat Ghost as the Wolf he is now and not the wolf he once was, then he ought to let the decision to go or stay be Ghost's, just as every Narnian who goes south to fight for Narnia goes by choice, not by command. "The decision is yours."

"Then I will go south with you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> regarding Ghost: I've mentioned this in the previous fic, but thought I should repeat it here. I know that in the books, Jon is somewhat aware of this warg link/connection with Ghost, though he doesn't understand it much. In the show, they never really showed the Stark kids besides Bran as having that link with their wolves. Since this fic mostly draws from show canon for the Westeros part of the worldbuilding, I thought I'd explore it here. Though Ghost being a sentient being makes it way more complicated. Thanks for reading!


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